


Find Our Way

by youaresunlight



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Universe - Celebrity, Alternate Universe - Hockey, Dean/Cas Pinefest, Dean/Cas Pinefest 2018, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Friends With Benefits, Friends to Lovers, Happy Ending, Hockey Player Castiel, Love Confessions, M/M, Model Dean, Mutual Pining, NHL Player Castiel, Other: See Story Notes, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-15
Updated: 2018-03-15
Packaged: 2019-03-31 18:43:16
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 25,811
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13981083
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youaresunlight/pseuds/youaresunlight
Summary: Castiel is playing in his first NHL season when he meets Dean, a model who has just broken into the industry. He goes home with Dean, because it’s easy, and they keep hooking up, because it makes sense. They’re two, busy people who travel all the time, and it’s not like he’s looking for anything serious – until he does and he wants it with Dean, who’s become his best friend and the love of his life. Life, however, is no fairy tale, and when Dean starts dating for real, Cas lets him go because he loves him. He comes to terms with his broken heart, resigned to however much time he’ll need to mend it, but then Dean is left at the altar at his own wedding and asks if Cas will come with him on his honeymoon.





	1. 2009 - Rookie Season

**Author's Note:**

> I've been waiting several months to post this, so it's exciting to finally share!
> 
>  **Notes:** As the summary states, Dean is about to get married to an OMC when he is left at the altar. The character is only mentioned and doesn’t appear or speak in the story. There is no description of any real-time interaction with Dean.
> 
> I debated whether to post this as single- or multi-chaptered, but ultimately decided to post each section as individual chapters since, together, they span a period of nine years. The chapters vary greatly in length, with Chapter/Section 4 being the longest.
> 
> Art for this fic is posted [here](http://miggles-scribbles.tumblr.com/post/171895101606/hockey-player-castiel-that-i-painted-for), and a playlist can be found [here](https://open.spotify.com/user/leeshkim/playlist/3x3DSM6W58vSyxE3aKJAOd?si=Ky33ycAvS5W1R5TCQVZLTA) for those of you who enjoy soundtracks! It consists of songs that inspired me while writing this fic.
> 
> Thank you to my friends who were great cheerleaders throughout the writing process; to the Mods for their efforts behind the scenes; and to all of you - always - for reading and supporting my work. Enjoy!

> _I do not use the word ‘home’ lightly_  
>  _So when I sigh into the crook of your neck,_  
>  _Believe that your spine is a timber frame,_  
>  _Your kiss a welcome mat,_  
>  _And your enveloping arms my front door_

 

In some ways, Cas’ first time meeting Dean was largely unremarkable. 

It was inside a bar, for one, after playing the Rangers for a hard-earned win. They were kept on their toes the entire game and the Rangers came close, just not close enough. Cas’ face was flushed from being cramped in a booth, from residual adrenaline still thrumming through his veins. He couldn’t stop laughing when one of his teammates ruffled his hair for his solid assist. 

He was a rookie, wide-eyed and new, still waking up most mornings in sheer disbelief that his job was to play good hockey and be paid for it. To compete and rub shoulders with his former idols and hit the ice every day. It was all surreal. 

He might have been spacing a little bit, the low light obscuring his dopey smile, when a booming voice slashed right through his daydream, shouting “Shots!” like a battle cry. Vodka sloshed as their glasses clinked, a cool relief on his heated lips. 

“Jesus, Cas,” Victor looked impressed. “You got an extra liver we don’t know about?” It prompted Cas to glance around the table, noting the listing of several teammates. 

He eventually shrugged with a quirk of his lips but Garrett latched on, arm slung around his shoulder. “Dude, if you can’t get drunk, then you better get _laid_. I’m your wingman, Novak. I got you covered.” 

“Don’t listen to him, Cas. He’ll send them all running,” Ian threw a wadded napkin at Garrett’s nose. He serenely ignored the ensuing squawk. “I’m kinda curious though, like, what’s your type?” 

The guys all knew that Cas was gay; it was one of the first things they’d learned about him. Once he’d talked to management at his agent’s advice – something about preparing contingency plans – it’d only made to tell his teammates next. He’d be seeing them the most out of everyone. 

“Tall, dark, and handsome? No wait,” Garrett paused. “No, the opposite of that. You probably like ‘em pretty.” He looked drunk and proud of himself and Castiel sighed like conceding defeat. “You figured me out, man,” he shook his head, trying not to laugh. “I do like them pretty.” He could hear Ian snort across the table and let Garrett gloat for about five whole seconds, before finally nudging the guy with his elbow. “Alright, alright, move over. I have to use the restroom.” 

He splashed his face at the bathroom sink, checked the time and answered his texts. Two from Gabe who’d just watched the game and a smattering of others congratulating him. He was replying to Anna as he walked back out, his surroundings going from bright to dim. He was practically asking to bump into someone, which he did partway between the bar and his booth. 

“Shoot,” he took a step back, pocketing his phone like he should have done earlier. “Sorry, I, uh… I wasn’t watching…” _where I was going_ , he meant to say, but instead he trailed off like a total idiot and could only stare at the guy in front of him. 

Because the thing is, what Garrett said had actually been quite close to the truth. Cas _did_ find himself attracted to pretty guys, though he felt like the standards were fairly subjective. _This_ guy, though, with his huge green eyes and lips that could easily drive men crazy, was so unequivocally striking that Castiel struggled to find his words. “I’m, um, Cas. Sorry again.”

He got a smile for that and- Holy shit. “Dean, and don’t worry about it.” 

 _Dean_. It suited him. “Well, if you’re headed to the bar, I could… buy you a drink.” 

“I was on my way out, actually,” Dean said, his smile sheepish and devastating. “I sorta missed dinner and now I’m starving. I was gonna grab some pizza if…?” His expression was hopeful. 

The team had ordered burgers when they first arrived, but Cas was twenty-two with a bottomless stomach. “Sure, that sounds great,” he nodded at Dean, then, “Let me grab my coat and we can go.” 

He walked backwards the first few steps, keeping his eyes locked onto Dean’s as though Dean might disappear if he dared to look away. Dean didn’t seem to mind the attention at all, judging by the pink that dusted his cheeks. 

“Hey, so I think I’m heading out,” he said to Ian, who raised a single, knowing eyebrow and told him, “We leave at nine in the morning. Use protection.” 

“I don’t-” Cas cleared his throat, shuffling his feet. “I don’t know if it’s like that.” 

“And yet you look like the cat that got the cream. Whatever, good for you, man. See you tomorrow.” 

“Wait, where’s Cas going?” Garrett blinked at them, three sheets to the wind and still nursing a beer. He was in for one wicked hangover. “Oh, _shit_ , you found someone!” 

Ian waved for Cas to leave and threw something at Garrett; maybe a French fry, Cas wasn’t sure. He still laughed as he found his coat and pulled it on as he left the booth. Dean was propped against the wall, all long, lean lines, smiling at Cas through the thick of his lashes. “Ready?” he asked, his voice honey-sweet, a tone that evoked the languidness of summer. “There’s a place around the corner that I go to all the time. Donna’s. Have you heard of it?” 

“No,” Cas opened the door, ushering Dean through with a hand on his back. “I’m not a local, though, so that doesn’t mean much.” 

“Oh? Where are you from?” 

“Boston, originally, but I moved to Seattle six months ago.” 

“Yeah? I’ve never been.” Dean looked a little wistful. “So, you’re here for work?” 

“Yes.” It wasn’t a lie. “Just an overnight trip then we fly out tomorrow.” 

“We?” Dean tilted his head, breath forming a cloud in the cold evening air. 

“Me and my team,” Cas slowed them to a stop, reaching out to zip Dean’s jacket all the way up. 

Dean huffed behind his collar, eyes big and amused. “You didn’t have to do that. We’re almost there.” He huffed again when Cas just smiled, tugging Cas’ arm to keep walking down the street. 

The blustery wind was a lot more bearable with Dean’s fingers grasping his sleeve, but stepping into Donna’s was still a relief, with the added bonus of freshly baked pies. Dean had definitely been serious about being a regular – even the kid behind the counter knew him by name – and Dean handed him a bill before Cas could protest. “Could you double my order? Got a friend with me.” He made a shushing motion at Cas’ expression. “He came to visit all the way from Seattle.” 

“Oh, sweet,” the kid turned to Cas, and promptly muttered, “Holy shit.” 

“What?” Dean glanced between them, then back at the kid. “Hey, Kevin, you okay?” 

“You’re Castiel Novak,” Kevin breathed in awe. “You- You played the Rangers today.” 

“I did,” Cas laughed a little, shaking the hand that Kevin extended. He was still getting used to being recognized in public, yet sort of endeared by Kevin’s enthusiasm. “You’re a hockey fan?” he ventured to indulge him, and couldn’t help but mirror Kevin’s generous smile. 

“I’ve been one pretty much forever,” Kevin’s eyes were twinkling like in a cartoon. “I mean, I live in Rangers territory now, but I grew up in Portland. You guys are my team. Man, I can’t believe- How do you know Dean? He knows less about hockey than a newborn baby.” 

“Hey!” Dean swatted at him. “Just ‘cause I didn’t get an A in AP Hockey doesn’t mean you can insult me in front of Cas.”

“Alright,” Kevin crossed his arms. “What’s the name of the NHL championship trophy?”

Dean scoffed, “It’s _obviously_ the…” only to pause and bite his lip. He threw Castiel a despairing look. “The… ice… something trophy.” 

“Wow,” Kevin rolled his eyes. “Yes, Dean, every year, the playoff winner receives the ‘ice something trophy.’ Good job.” 

“Ugh, shut up and give us our pizza.” 

Most of the seating was lined against the wall with plain, metal bar stools tucked underneath. Dean led them a spot in the farthest corner, “Now that we know you’re famous and all.” 

“Trust me, I’m really not,” Cas shook his head as he reached for a slice. He groaned around his first bite despite himself, and couldn’t care less about Dean laughing at him. The dough burst of flavor, a little like focaccia, with globs of rich cheese and thick pepperoni that curled into crispy edges. “Damn,” he finally said, only after he had decimated most of his slice. “No wonder you come here all the time.” He took another bite and sighed happily. 

“Should I leave you two alone?” Dean grinned, delighted. “I honestly shouldn’t eat here so much, but I’ve accepted my fate. The cheese has bewitched me.” 

“Well, for what it’s worth, you… look really good.” _Oh, geez_. _Get a grip, Novak_. “I mean, you’re, um… You know what I mean.” 

Dean hid his blush behind his pizza. “I… Yeah, I think so. Thanks. But you’re the one to talk. I should have guessed right away you were some sort of athlete. You’re built like a tank.” His words took on a flirtier tone, like all of Cas and his solid muscle were his kryptonite that left him breathless. The fizzy tension from the bar returned, prompting Cas to wonder what would happen when it snapped. 

“Anyway, is that why you moved to Seattle this year? You got drafted by their team?” Dean wiped his hands on a napkin. His fingers were long and elegant, but not dainty or anything. He had nice hands. 

“Yeah, I basically moved right after graduation. It’s been pretty wild. I love it though.” 

“That’s amazing,” Dean smiled warmly. “Not a lot of people can say they love their jobs, you know? I feel like that’s so lucky, that you have that already.” 

“I am,” Cas agreed wholeheartedly. “I still think sometimes that I’ll wake up one morning and this will all be a dream. Does that sound dumb?” 

“Not at all,” Dean tilted his head. “You’re just feeling grateful. I’d hold onto that.” He placed his elbow on the Formica table then rested his chin in his open palm. “So, tell me what your mascot is. Seattle… Salmon? Seattle Raindrops?” 

Raindrops. That was pretty cute. “Neither,” Cas kept a straight face. “It’s the Seattle Coffee Beans.” 

Dean frowned at him. “What?” he said, looking real skeptical. “Don’t lie to me.” 

“I’m serious,” Cas insisted. “Starbucks had a hand in it. They’re a major sponsor.” A smile threatened at the corners of his lips, but he tamped down on it hard as Dean’s eyes narrowed. They spent nearly a minute just staring at each other until Cas’ mouth twitched and earned him a shove.

“You _ass_!” Dean yelled at him. “God, I would’ve been _pissed_ if that was real. Pissed on your behalf for your dweeb mascot.” He laughed and reached for his soda. “Jesus, _coffee beans_ … What is it, really?”

“Metropolitans,” Castiel said. “Like your baseball team, but we’re Metros for short.” 

“Well, phew,” Dean said with a grin, wiping invisible sweat off the top of his brow. “And did the Metros win big in New York today?”

“Eh, not big, but three to two.” 

“Is that why you were at the bar? I did see a booth full of brick houses.” 

“That would be my team, yeah,” Castiel laughed. “What about you? Just drinks after work?” 

“Something like that,” Dean hummed his assent, and Castiel watched in rapt fascination as the flush along his cheekbones deepened a shade. “I was actually, um… I moved here to model, and I had this shoot today for Hugo Boss. It’s like, sort of my big break, I guess? Anyway, that’s the reason I hadn’t eaten. My stomach was in knots the entire day.” He lowered his eyes to focus on the table, plucking a loose thread in the seam of his jeans, pride and nervousness warring on his face. It was as though he was worried about Cas’ reaction, like his profession wasn’t always well-received. 

So, Castiel waited till Dean looked up, and with all the earnestness he could muster, told him, “Dean, that’s incredible.” 

“Nah,” Dean blushed even harder, his smile belying his feigned nonchalance. “I mean, sure, it was really cool, Cas. It made me feel like I could do this. Have a career.” 

“Of course, you can,” Cas nodded at him. “That’s awesome, Dean. Congratulations.” 

“Thanks,” Dean looked so pleased. “Guess we’re both newbies, huh?” 

“Rookies,” Cas supplied. 

“Right,” Dean crinkled his eyes and Cas felt his world tilt a bit on its axis. He sat there helplessly as Dean checked the time and asked, “So, do rookies have a curfew or…?” 

“No,” Cas breathed out a laugh, his heart stuttering while his throat felt parched. “I just have to be back at the hotel by nine.” Did he sound too obvious? Easy for it? 

“Where’s your hotel?”

“Near the, ah, Garden.” 

Dean smiled wryly. “My apartment’s closer.”

Cas really couldn’t argue with that. “Lead the way,” he stood from his seat. 

Just as they were about to leave, Dean stopping by the counter to say ‘bye’ to Kevin, a blonde, sunny woman emerged in an apron, “You didn’t tell me you were here! I almost missed you!” Cas presumed correctly that she was Donna, and she fussed over Dean for a motherly minute before glancing at the two of them, smile knowing. Based on how she insisted that they come by again – her treat – she had no idea who Castiel was and Cas felt all the more at ease for it. 

“Cas lives in Seattle,” Dean grinned at her. “But the next time he’s in town, I’ll bring him by.” He said it so easily, like a sure thing, and a warmth built up in Castiel’s chest.

It was indeed a short walk to Dean’s apartment, but the moment that Dean tucked his hand into Cas’, his sense of time was immediately shot. The minutes felt like seconds and before he realized, they’d arrived at Dean’s building and were walking up the stairs. Heat seemed to radiate from their point of contact and Castiel followed when Dean led him inside. 

“Do you want, um, water or anything?” Dean hung his keys on a hook before turning around. His eyes were wide again, dark this time, and he chewed on his lip till it looked red and wet. 

“No, I…” Cas took a step closer, reaching up with both hands to cup Dean’s face. He leaned in slowly, cautiously, giving Dean plenty of time to stop him if he wanted.

Dean’s mouth felt soft and plush beneath his, and Cas was into it, hungry for it, pinning Dean against the nearest wall. Dean gasped and gripped Cas’ shirt, tugging Cas close then holding on. He was letting Cas’ body envelop his and the _want_ struck Cas like a bat to the head.

Dean was breathing fast when they finally pulled apart, just long enough for Cas to shift his attention and pull at Dean’s jacket till it fell to the floor. He pressed in close again, hands on Dean’s waist now, and buried his face in the crook of Dean’s neck. He kissed along his collarbone, feeling Dean squirm, before murmuring softly, “What do you want?” 

Dean’s reply sounded needy and bitten-off, but Cas caught ‘touch’ and ‘bed’ and ‘please’ and that was enough to get him to move. He let Dean take his hand again and pull him toward a room at the end of the hallway. “Do you have a roommate?” he asked just in case, having overheard noises on roadies that were traumatizing.

Dean released Cas’ hand to take off his shirt. “Yeah, I do, but she’s out of town.”

“Oh,” Cas managed to say, distracted by the sudden expanse of skin. “That’s good,” he finished dumbly and Dean huffed a laugh before reaching for him. 

Dean was determined, and clearly efficient, and the next thing Cas knew they were down to their boxers with the rest of their clothes strewn all over the room. If Cas could spare a moment, he’d be impressed, but Dean was nudging him to the edge of the bed and parking him there before sinking to the floor. 

“Jesus,” Castiel watched him, lifting his hips when Dean pulled at his boxers and making space for him between his legs. He’d been tenting his pants since they kissed in the hallway and seeing Dean like this, small and on his knees, made his heart thump faster and his body run hot. 

Dean tossed the boxers somewhere behind him then wrapped his fingers around Cas’ cock, keeping his fist loose and licking his lips all slow and deliberate, showing off. His eyes lifted up when Castiel cursed, his expression pleased and his pupils dark. “Watch me,” he said, low like a purr, and it was pretty much impossible for Cas to deny him. 

So, he sat, hands gripping the sheets, while Dean rubbed the crown of Cas’ cock against the swell of his mouth and made it slick with precome and spit. It was like he was challenging Cas to _take_ , to grab and push to get what he wanted, but Cas could be patient if he had to be and it was certainly worth it to see Dean desperate. 

And it _was_ , as it turned out, because after a while Dean let out a whine and parted his mouth a little bit more. He stuck out his tongue so the flat of it would run along the head, now pink and swollen, goading Castiel into pushing forward until he bumped the roof of Dean’s mouth.

“Oh, fuck,” Cas’ knuckles were white from keeping his hands still and out of Dean’s hair. But he couldn’t hold back any more than that and the groans kept falling from his open lips. “Dean,” he said helplessly. “Dean, _god_ , your mouth is perfect.” His voice sounded ragged and it was almost too much, Dean’s bright, tempting gaze fixed wholly on his face. He didn’t dare tear his eyes away when Dean went down lower and hollowed his cheeks, working the rest of him with his hand and making damn sure Cas was watching him. 

Dean wasn’t the first person to go down on him but Cas didn’t think it’d ever been this intense, pulling his climax from him like a fishing line, hard and relentless and inevitable. He realized just afterward that he hadn’t had a chance to warn Dean at all, but Dean still kept his mouth on him, lashes fluttering, and Cas could only gasp, “Shit, sorry, I didn’t…” 

He finally relaxed his fingers and ran them through Dean’s hair, cradling his head as gently as he could while Dean pulled off and wiped at his mouth. “It’s okay,” Dean sounded hoarse. “It’s what I wanted.” 

Castiel groaned. 

Dean rose to his feet, a little unsteady, letting Cas hold and pull him into his lap. His eyes went hooded like he found Cas’ strength incredibly attractive, and it made Cas preen. “Tell me what you want, Dean,” he said, low and rough. “Come on, I know you’re close.” He kept one arm around Dean’s waist and used his free hand to palm Dean’s cock, worked him over lazily with every intention of teasing till Dean asked otherwise. 

Dean pushed his hips into Castiel’s hand, murmuring “Cas” on a plaintive moan. Cas merely smiled and didn’t give in, nosing Dean’s cheek and kissing him there. “ _Cas_ ,” Dean whimpered, imploring, unable to move within Castiel’s hold.

“Tell me,” Cas insisted as he lifted his hand and refused to touch him. 

Dean curled himself closer to Castiel’s chest. His breath felt damp over Cas’ neck. “I… I want to come,” he said so quietly. “I want you to make me come.”

Once he asked, Cas didn’t hold back, reaching into Dean’s boxers to pull at his cock, listening for cues on what Dean liked. His hands were calloused and he knew Dean could feel it, judging by his sounds and the flex of his hips. “Is this what you want?” he kissed the bolt of Dean’s jaw, and tightened his hand. “Are you close, baby?” 

Cas didn’t usually use pet names in bed, hadn’t been with anyone long enough to figure out that sort of thing, or explore it at all. But the endearment tumbled out of its own accord and it made Dean jerk and gasp in his arms. “Yeah, Cas, I… Oh, I’m gonna-” Dean moaned against his skin, trembling and hot.

Cas wanted so badly to get him there, and he rolled his thumb over the head of Dean’s cock, telling him, “Yeah, let me see it, Dean.”

It was enough for Dean’s whole body to stiffen against him as he spilled over Cas’ fist. 

His breaths came harsh and he continued to shake, gasping into Cas’ mouth when they kissed afterward. 

Castiel held him until he calmed, until he finally relaxed and rested his weight against Cas’ body, sweaty and sated. Cas touched the soft skin of his lower back, kissed his temple, his cheek, his lips again. Hook-ups probably didn’t allow for this much affection but Dean felt amazing and Cas didn’t care. 

It took a moment for Dean to move, his face still pink from begging and coming. He was gorgeous, Cas thought to himself, and it was dangerous to be this besotted. So, of course, when Dean asked, “Do you want to stay over?” Cas kissed him deep and said yes, he would.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas woke up a little past seven, beating his alarm by half-an-hour and having slept better than he had in a while. They’d been on a roady the past two weeks with cold hotel beds and starched white sheets. Here, though, he was warm all around, his front pressed up along Dean’s bare back. 

He dropped a kiss into Dean’s soft hair, breathing in the scent of his faint shampoo and tightening his hold around Dean’s toned waist. It felt good to share body heat, and possibly more so because it was Dean. “Mm,” he heard Dean mumble as he shifted sleepily in Castiel’s arms. Cas loosened his embrace so Dean could move and lie flat with Cas’ arm as his pillow. “Morning,” Dean blinked at him, his smile bleary yet pretty nonetheless. He sighed and snuggled closer, eyes drifting shut again. “What time is it?” 

“Quarter after seven,” Cas replied. “I should probably head back around eight or so.” His bag was still on his hotel bed, barely unpacked, but there’d be chirping hell to pay if he were late.

“’Kay,” Dean murmured back, his lips tickling Cas where they touched his chest. “If you want, you can stay for breakfast. I make mean scrambled eggs. Best in New York.” 

“Is that right,” Cas laughed, amused. “Well, I can’t leave without trying them.” He opened his arms to let Dean out, albeit reluctantly, and watched him get dressed.

“You checkin’ me out?” Dean quirked a smile, pulling on his boxers and snapping the waistband. His tone was teasing but he blushed anyway. “Come on, get up. You’re making us coffee.”

It took them a moment to find Cas’ clothes and brush their teeth and get to the kitchen. It would have been faster without kissing in the hallway but Castiel could hardly complain about that.

He figured out the coffeemaker easily enough, and the smell of it soon filled the tiny kitchen while the eggs crackled loudly on top of Dean’s stove. He found a couple of mugs in the crowded cupboard, and set them down beside two empty plates. Perhaps it should have worried him, how comfortable it was, how it’d been less than twelve hours yet here they were, half-dressed and making breakfast together. Dean pushed him gently toward the toaster, pointing at the bread, then chattered idly about the huge, state-of-the-art kitchen he would someday have in his future house. 

Dean’s eggs _were_ good, creamy and fluffy, and he felt a little bad devouring them so quickly. Dean, however, didn’t seem to mind, and it was his pleased, half-sleepy smile that fueled Cas to say, “You should come to a game.” 

Dean paused with his fork hovering just below his mouth. “Hmm?” 

“Like, maybe our next game in New York, or if you’re ever in Seattle…” Cas trailed off. His stomach felt quivery, butterfly-ridden, and he shoved toast in his mouth to keep from talking. 

When he met Dean’s gaze again, his eyes were soft. “Yeah, sure,” he said. “That sounds fun.” 

Cas swallowed his toast. “Yeah?” he asked, that floaty feeling finding its way back. 

“Mm, I can finally see what the fuss is about,” Dean winked at him and Castiel laughed. 

After they’d eaten, Cas washed the dishes while Dean gathered the rest of Castiel’s clothes. “How did your pants get _under_ my bed?” he shook his head as he handed them over. 

They waited downstairs for the cab to arrive, just inside the door by the mailboxes to avoid the chill of a January morning. They were standing side by side, Cas’ arm brushing Dean’s, when Cas pulled out his phone and asked Dean for his number. 

“Thought you’d never ask,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Text me so I have yours.” 

“Okay,” Cas did just that as soon as Dean placed the phone back in his hand.

“So,” Dean cleared his throat and rocked back on his heels. “I’ll see you later?” He appeared uncertain and a little bit hopeful, his breath slightly shaky when Castiel kissed him. 

“See you,” Cas told him softly. “Good luck with everything.”

Dean smiled. “You too.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas took out his phone again inside the cab, thumbing through his contacts to find Dean’s number. He realized he didn’t know what Dean’s last name was, and finally found him under ‘W.’ It took him a few minutes to think of what to say and settled on, ‘Hey, it’s Cas. Hope to see you again soon.’

His phone quickly pinged with two back-to-back texts. 

‘Me too,’ one said, then, ‘Go Coffee Beans! :)’


	2. 2011 - Slump

The sun swept its warmth over Cas’ skin as he hopped off of the bus outside Staples Center. It’d been cold and drizzling when they left Seattle and he welcomed the change, as did his mood.

Unfortunately for him, the mood didn’t last, not when the Kings virtually decimated them five to one and they went from two losses in a row to three. The locker room was silent after the game, everyone eager to get out of there as soon as they could, to deal with the anger in their respective ways – with booze or brooding or a mix of both. 

“Cas,” Ian tapped his shoulder, the exhaustion in his voice matching that of his face. “A group of us are heading out for a drink. Not for too long though. You wanna join?”

“You guys go ahead,” Cas grabbed his phone and turned on the screen. “I’m meeting Dean.” 

“Oh,” Ian said mildly, except he looked worried and that irritated Cas.

There was a text from Dean but he lowered his phone and sighed at his teammate. “What?” he asked.

“Nothing,” Ian said in an obvious lie, then shrugged his shoulders. “He in town for work?”

“Ian, just say what you want to say,” Cas bit out more roughly than he’d intended.

It was a testament to their friendship that Ian wasn’t fazed, just took it in stride. He did throw Cas an unimpressed look and raised both hands. “It’s not my place.”

“ _Ian_ -”

“Look, man. You guys’ve been doing this for what, like, three years now? You know you haven’t picked up since you met him, right?” Cas opened his mouth to protest. “Guys who _look_ like Dean don’t count, Cas. That’s called substituting.”

Cas scoffed rudely and pulled on his shoes. “Not really sure what you want me to say. We can’t all be like you and meet our soulmates in high school. What Dean and I have makes sense. There’s no need to mess it up.”

He could tell that Ian wanted to argue, but they were both tired and feeling like shit and Cas watched him deflate, fight leaving his body. “You’re right,” he finally smiled. “You know your situation better than I do. Say ‘hi’ to Dean for me, yeah?”

“Will do,” Cas said, and that was that.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas was changed into his sleep pants when Dean knocked on the door, forgoing a shirt since it’d likely end up being tossed on the floor once Dean arrived. He padded across the room to let Dean in, a part of him marveling at how good Dean looked. He had a pair of aviators tucked into his shirt, the weight of them pulling the collar down to show off the notch at the base of his throat.

“Hey, stranger,” Dean stepped inside, shutting the door and leaning against it. He let Cas come to him and reached for his hand, their fingers entwining. “Are you okay?”

Dean still didn’t watch much hockey, though he always made an effort for Cas’ games. He tracked his schedule and wins and losses, had undoubtedly checked the results of the game tonight. He didn’t say anything when Cas pulled him close, head dropping heavily to rest on Dean’s shoulder. He pushed his fingers through Cas’ hair and Cas felt the tension seeping out. 

“I’m glad you’re here,” he said eventually, because once his mind had combed through everything else he wanted to say – _I let them down_ , _I failed_ , _I’m_ tired – telling Dean this seemed the most important. 

“It’s always good to see you,” Dean replied, and Cas lifted his head so they could kiss. He wrapped his arms around Dean’s waist and sighed. Dean smelled so good and he ached to touch him.

When they finally broke apart and moved from the door, Dean asked if he had eaten and Cas said ‘no.’ Dean’s mock disapproval only lasted for a moment, then he kissed Cas’ cheek and called room service.

Castiel waited, unsure what else to do, while Dean perched on the edge of the bed and rattled off an order for steak and fries. He’d spent enough postgame nights with Cas to know his go-to meals and likes and routines. It was striking how much Dean knew about him, though Cas quashed the emotions that came with that.

Once the table rolled in and Cas accepted the fact that he was famished despite his mood, they settled on the sofa to eat side by side, utensils clinking against their plates. At one point, Dean whined about his chicken and stole a couple fries off of Castiel’s plate, and it occurred to Cas in terrifying fashion that he was all too endeared by it. “Eat your chicken breast, Dean. Be healthy,” he said, laughing for the first time in probably hours when Dean wrinkled his nose and stuck out his tongue.

“You’re just mad that I didn’t jump you,” Dean hummed as he swiped another fry. “Isn’t that why you were shirtless when I got here?” he grinned. “Not that I’m complaining. I appreciate the view.”

“Yeah, I forgot how high maintenance you are,” Cas waved at the table. “All this wining and dining.” 

“Oh, I’m sorry, do you see any wine?” Dean lifted his glass. “This is tea, you cheapskate.” 

Castiel laughed again, loud and bright, sort of amazed by how easily Dean could pull him from a funk when he got like this. It made him feel exposed and a lot unnerved, while simultaneously warming him down to his toes. He felt a little lightheaded with the weight of it all and what that said about him and Dean. 

He was lost in that thought until Dean called his name, and when he met Dean’s eyes, they were wide and concerned. “Where’d you go?” Dean asked him gently, placing one hand on Cas’ knee. 

“Nowhere,” Cas shook his head. “Just- Tough game and it sucked, you know?”

“Mm,” Dean leaned in then, pressing his lips to Castiel’s mouth. “Could I do something to help?”

His voice was so tender, and Castiel melted.

“I think so,” he said.

He lay on his back when they climbed into bed, Dean nestled into his side like a matching puzzle piece and running his fingers over Cas’ skin. “You’re all black and blue,” he murmured lowly, eyes trained on the bruises Cas had acquired tonight. He kissed the one on his shoulder then the one on his chest and moved his body to straddle Cas’ thighs. He smiled at Cas before fetching the lube he’d tossed on the sheets when he took off his clothes. He slicked up his fingers and kept their eyes locked, said “Let me, okay?” and reached behind himself.

His eyes fluttered shut almost instantly, and Castiel thought he looked incredible like this, head tipped back and mouth slightly parted. He wouldn’t have minded if Dean took his time because watching him was an experience in and of itself, but soon Dean was gasping and biting his lip and didn’t draw it out, and that was good too.

In fact, Cas was so focused on Dean that he didn’t make a sound when Dean rolled on the condom, or when Dean lowered himself onto his cock, all tight and slow and moaning for him. It wasn’t until Dean sank down all the way that the sounds punched out of Cas in a low, thick rumble. “Fuck,” he clutched Dean’s thighs, at the supple give of the muscles there while Dean adjusted on top of him.

“Good?” Dean shifted slightly, trying to get Cas even deeper inside him. He braced his hands on Castiel’s stomach and moved his body little by little, let loose tiny noises when Cas’ grip tightened and held him still. “ _Cas_ ,” he gasped.

“Yeah,” Cas couldn’t stop staring. Dean was right here yet he couldn’t get enough. He wrenched his hand away from holding Dean’s thigh to tug on his wrists and pull him down. The kiss was heated and wet and frantic and Dean was flushed when Cas released him. “You okay?” Cas asked breathlessly, and he watched Dean nod before kissing him again.

Dean rode him like that, their bodies flush, only sitting up once Castiel let him to work himself slowly on Cas’ cock. He followed the rhythm that Castiel set with his hands on Dean’s hips to guide them as he wished, and his eyes squeezed shut when Cas began to thrust, breaths catching on a sob when Cas got him just right.

They didn’t hurry but it was intense, and they barreled toward the climax like a powerful wave. Dean was trembling now, his lashes wet, his neglected erection leaking on his stomach as he moaned Cas’ name around his pretty little whimpers. “Cas, I-” His movement stuttered. “Can you, _ah_ \- Can you please touch me?”

He clenched around Cas, all but begging for it, and Cas could only groan and do as he asked.

It didn’t take much for Dean to come and the sight of him pushed Cas over the edge. The white shock of pleasure made his body go taut and his senses went dull and sharp all at once. He felt the tightness of Dean’s slick heat and his nails biting half-moons into his skin. He felt Dean’s weight come to rest against his and could hear his every breath, soft and hitched. 

Yet everything else seemed to fall away like they were the only two people in the world – lying there together, heartbeats in tandem, a sweet, languid drift into the afterglow. 

“Was that good?” Dean asked him sleepily, shifting off of Cas’ chest to lie on his side. 

Cas waited for Dean to settle, tucking his head beneath Cas’ chin, before ignoring the conflicting feelings taking shape in his heart to drop a kiss in Dean’s hair. “Yeah, it was.”

They had to get up, of course, eventually, to take care of the condom and step in the shower to wash the drying come and sweat from their bodies. Dean was loose-limbed and pliant afterward, falling into bed and reaching for Cas. He got touch-starved like this sometimes, and Cas indulged him like he always had. The way Dean fit against him wasn’t unusual, and neither was the ease with which he slept in Cas’ arms. The rise and fall of his chest, the pace of his breathing, the snuffling noises he made were familiar things, yet tonight, along with his fondness came a sharp, sudden pang that Cas found alarming.

He argued with himself that this made sense. They were attracted to each other but had crazy schedules and lived on opposite coasts; the list went on. They were young and this was convenient. He didn’t need to be Dean’s boyfriend to keep doing this.

So, why – his brain demanded – did the thought of dating Dean fill his heart with longing?

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Ian, good friend that he was, didn’t bring it upon himself to say ‘I told you so.’ He took a single look at Cas the next morning and squeezed his shoulder. “You’ll figure it out.”


	3. 2014 - Bye Week

“Can’t believe you’re staying here,” Garrett shook his head. “It’s fucking bye week! You could be on a beach, man, banging some dude, and you pick _Seattle_.”

Cas pulled off his shin guard and smacked him with it. “I don’t need a beach to get laid, you ass.”

“Yeah, yeah, our captain’s a dreamboat. We all know who you’re crushing on.” Garrett let his shoulder pads fall to the floor. “Shit, you’re spending it with Dean, aren’t you.”

“It’s not set in stone,” Cas avoided his eyes. “I don’t even know if he’s gonna be around.” He grabbed his stick to rip the tape off the blade because it gave him something else to stare at instead. 

“Jesus,” Garrett muttered, and Cas could feel his gaze intent on his face. “Well, I guess, take him to the Space Needle. It’s romantic and shit. You can be like Tom Hanks.”

“Pretty sure that was the Empire State Building.”

“Then why the hell was it called _Sleepless in_ Seattle? Just, you know, watch out for yourself. It’s Dean’s loss if he turns you down.”

He never looked this serious off the ice and Cas felt a tug of gratitude. “Thanks,” he said earnestly. “I hope you get laid in Miami.”

Garrett grinned and shoved him.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

For all the texting they did on a near-daily basis, he and Dean rarely had a need to talk on the phone, and now, standing in his living room, Cas wished that he’d had experience calling Dean before. He had his thumb hovering uncertainly over Dean’s number and recited what he’d say another time in his head. He did this repeatedly until he felt pathetic, and muttered to himself, “Grow a pair, Novak.”

As he’d expected, more or less, Dean sounded surprised when he picked up the phone. Cas could picture him frowning, adorably confused. “Cas? You butt-dialing me?”

And despite his nervousness, Castiel laughed. “No, it’s not a butt-dial. I had a question.”

“Oh,” the surprise was still there, then Dean said “Hang on,” followed by rustling. “That’s probably better, right?” he asked after a minute and his voice was much clearer, sans background noise.

“Sorry, did I pull you away from work?”

“Nah, it’s okay. It’s our lunch break now.”

“Right,” Cas glanced at the time. Nine in Seattle, noon in New York.

“So, uh, what was your question?”

“Yeah, I just…” He was nervous as hell. He hadn’t seen Dean in over a month and maybe this was all a terrible life decision. “It’s our bye week, starting tomorrow.” Okay, not bad, considering.

“Oh yeah?” Dean chuckled softly. “Going anywhere exciting?” He sounded fond. And the fact that Dean, who’d known nothing about hockey, now knew about bye weeks and lockouts and playoffs, made Cas’ chest swell up with a kind of warmth that he’d realized some time ago only Dean could provide.

“Actually, I thought… I thought I’d stay here.”

“Really? Seattle? But it’s January.”

“I know, but I thought maybe- Maybe you could come and spend it with me.” And once he got _that_ out, his tongue loosened up. “If you don’t have work, that is- I guessed you might, but it doesn’t have to be the whole week. We could talk about it.”

“Oh,” Dean said again, except this time it made Cas’ stomach drop a little. “That sounds- Thanks for the invite, but Cas, I- I’m… seeing someone.”

His mind refused to process the words right away. They sat heavy on his brain. “What?” he said.

“It’s a guy that I met at a holiday party. Friend of a friend. He works on Wall Street? Anyway, I’ve been on a few dates now and- I think it’s going well. He’s a hockey fan.”

Cas closed his eyes and tried not to make a sound, because with all the emotions rising up to the surface, he couldn’t be sure what sound would come out. Dean was dating someone. A Wall Street guy. A hockey fan. Jesus _fucking_ Christ. He wondered if Dean had told this guy, over crème brulée, that he had a friend in the NHL. A friend he’d been sleeping with for the past five years. A friend who loved him like an idiot.

He didn’t trust himself to say the right thing, but luckily what came out when he opened his mouth was a low, disappointed, “You didn’t tell me.” He thought it was harmless, especially given that he and Dean _were_ friends, had been for years. Except Dean sounded guilty when he responded, as though he’d been caught while hiding something.

“I know,” he said quietly. “I was going to tell you, I just… didn’t know when.” And wasn’t that a hilarious thought, that Dean might’ve waited till they saw each other next. They only ever saw each other to _fuck_ , so what a conversation that would’ve been.

“What’s his name?” Cas finally asked.

Dean hesitated. “Paul,” he said.

“And he’s good to you?” Cas had to add because he was a masochist. A complete moron.

He may have imagined the hitch in Dean’s breath though he wasn’t sure. It was all a mess. “Yeah, Cas. He treats me well.”

Cas felt his eyes sting. “Good. He better.” He fell silent and so did Dean, and for the first time since the moment they met Cas found it unbearable. Suffocating. “I should go,” he said too quickly. Too obvious. Fuck everything.

“Cas,” Dean made him pause, because Dean could always do that. Probably forever. “Are we okay?” His tone was meek, so awfully vulnerable. Cas hated it.

“Yeah, of course,” he lied through his teeth. “I’ll let you know when I’m in New York.”

“I’ll know if you don’t,” Dean teased him gently. “I have a way of finding out your game schedule.”

It was awkward and Cas’ heart broke but he laughed anyway. “Oh yeah? What’s that?” 

“Mm, it’s a secret,” Dean replied, and he sounded relieved, almost, that he hadn’t lost Cas.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Of course, the world didn’t end just because Cas’ plan blew up in his face. He got off the phone with Dean, called Garrett in Miami, and booked a four-day trip to southern Florida.

It was clear what had happened but Garrett didn’t pry, and when the story spilled out one night on the balcony, he handed Cas a beer and patted his back. 

The beach and the sun and clubs helped a little, though Cas didn’t bother to pick anyone up. All he could do was see brown and blue eyes and think ‘wrong,’ or try and look for freckles on unflecked skin.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Their next game in New York was against the Isles, and Cas kept his promise of texting Dean, who came to Brooklyn to meet him for drinks. It was always so easy to talk to Dean; no matter how long it’d been, they could fall into step. And mostly, that made it worse, knowing what he could have had if things were different. 

Dean didn’t mention Paul unless he was asked, and Cas wasn’t sure if that was intentional, for Cas’ sake, or if there just wasn’t much worth mentioning. The selfish and jealous part of him hoped the latter were true, that it wasn’t going well, but the bigger part of him, the part that _loved_ Dean, wanted Dean to be happy, even with someone else.

So, that was how it went for close to a year, the two of meeting for dinner or drinks, and nothing more, in various cities. Cas had always been busy, but Dean had caught up, thriving in the career he’d always wanted. Sometimes Cas looked at Dean and saw the twenty-one-year-old who’d endlessly charmed him over late-night pizza.

And then in January, one year almost exactly to the date after Dean had first told him about dating Paul, an invitation arrived in his mailbox beginning with the words, ‘Please join us for the wedding.’

He flew to Colorado to ski for bye week, with Ian and his wife and their two-year-old.

He got impressively drunk, passed out on the rug, and RSVP’d first thing the next day.


	4. 2015 - Off-Season

The sky, Castiel noted, looked so flawless it could be painted on, like someone took a swath of the most vibrant blue and ran it across all the blemishing clouds. 

John and Mary Winchester’s spacious backyard was filled with the scent of pale pink roses, the distant melodies of cheerful songbirds, and the pleasant warmth of a summer afternoon. 

It’d been the perfect day for a storybook wedding. 

A hush fell over the guests the minute they realized something was off, when the string quartet played a little too long and Dean was still waiting, wringing his hands. It went on long enough that John, seated in the front, turned his worried gaze from the house to his wife, which seemed to confirm for everyone else the niggling dread at the back of their minds.

The shift in the mood was tangible then, and suddenly his seat in the middle of a row felt so smothering and stifling that Cas couldn’t breathe. All around him, smiles were faltering as people awkwardly lowered their phones, and for Dean’s sake, Castiel hoped that this was an elaborate, if unfunny, joke. 

Except, there was no reveal or prank or punchline, and when a furious Sam ran back toward the house with the other Best Man in tow, Cas made the grave mistake of looking at Dean and watching his smile tear at its seams. “I can’t _fucking_ believe this,” someone hissed at his side, and it was Garrett, there with his girlfriend, who had her hand on his arm, eyes wide in disbelief. “We saw the guy this morning,” Garrett went on, “he was greeting guests, I mean- What the _hell_ , Cas?” 

“I don’t know,” Castiel replied, the awful feeling in the pit of his stomach just growing and churning his insides with it. The sight of Dean standing there, alone and lost, infuriated him, made his blood boil. 

Nobody really knew what was happening, or rather, they knew but wanted to believe that the ceremony would happen according to plan. No one came to a wedding expecting disaster, and some of the guests looked hopeful for another plot twist. Even when Dean’s parents stood up to go comfort their son, there was a sliver of optimism, albeit getting thinner. 

Paul’s parents, who would’ve been Dean’s in-laws, quickly joined the small huddle in low, hushed voices, most likely to shield Dean from pitying eyes. None of their conversation reached the guests, but Castiel couldn’t imagine what they could possibly say that would make this better. He wouldn’t know either. 

Eventually, after what seemed like an eternity on pins and needles, Sam emerged from the back of the house holding a phone, his expression blank. He crossed the runner without a care, whereas before he’d gone around to avoid stepping on it. Whatever he said to his older brother prompted the parents to herd him away. 

Everyone watched Dean leave, shocked and silent, while Sam took the mic from the poor officiant, who honestly looked like he could use a stiff drink. All of them did, Cas thought bitterly, as Sam cleared his throat and addressed the guests. He was tall and handsome in his navy suit and dark brown shoes that caught the sunlight. He was understandably at a loss for words. This was one speech he hadn’t rehearsed. 

“Thank you for coming, everyone,” he said, clearly trying his hardest to keep eye contact. “Unfortunately, the, um- The wedding won’t be happening. But if you would please head over by the pool to wait, they’ll set up for dinner and bring that out. Dean, our parents, and I would really like you all to stay and enjoy the food. We’ll have music and there’s an open bar, just- Anyway, we’re sorry about this.” 

Cas gritted his teeth at the apology. Why did Sam have to be sorry for? What did _Dean_ or their parents, even Paul’s parents? 

He wondered where the hell that asshole was hiding. 

“Well, shit, are you gonna stay?” Garrett groaned very softly as he stood up. He bent down instinctively to grab the program then thought better of it and straightened himself.

“Yeah,” Cas started walking, vaguely in the direction of the pool. “Just in case he… Dean comes back.” 

Garrett nodded in understanding. “Sure, okay.” 

For the next half-hour or so, while the crew from the party rental company took down the rows of chairs and rolled out the tables, Cas stood by the cabana, leaning against its wall, and listened to Garrett give Ian a thorough run-down of why Paul Stanwick was literal garbage. Ian had missed the wedding for his grandmother’s birthday, though that didn’t matter now, Cas supposed. He stared at his wine glass, lost in thought, until Garrett thrust the call, still connected, at his face. “Ian wants to talk to you.” 

Cas took the phone and put it to his ear. “Hey, how’s San Diego.” 

Ian didn’t bother answering him. “The piece of shit left Dean at the altar?” 

Cas drank half of his glass and frowned at the pool. “Yeah, we don’t know where he is.” 

“Fuck,” Ian sighed noisily. “Who the fuck even _does_ that? What’s Dean doing?” 

“He took a call like an hour ago. It was probably Paul,” Cas drains the wine. He fights a sudden urge to slam the glass to the ground. “I haven’t seen him since. I think he’s in the house.”

“Jesus, and you guys are staying?” 

“His brother asked us to, and I want to make sure…” 

“Make sure what?”

“I don’t know, I just…” Cas sighed into his hand. “I don’t want to leave without seeing him.” 

“Yeah, I know,” Ian told him gently. It was the quiet voice he reserved for his daughter but comforting enough that Cas didn’t mind. “To be fair, he might just want to be left alone, but if there’s anyone he’ll make an exception for, it’s you,” he states like it’s fact. 

And perhaps two hours ago, Cas would’ve felt something akin to smugness at having had all that history with Dean, because regardless of the label on their relationship – or lack thereof – six years was nothing to scoff at. But now, knowing that Dean was tucked away in that house, probably alone and undoubtedly hurting, Cas couldn’t care less about whatever lingering influence he might have with Dean. All he cared about was what Dean needed, and whether it was something he could give. 

By the time he handed the phone to Garrett, who reiterated his opinion on the matter with a choice of colorful words, guests had begun to migrate back for the reception, or at least a dinner where everybody seemed to avoid discussing what had transpired. Cas sat with Garrett and Dean’s old roommate Jo, whom he recognized from the earlier times Dean had taken him home after games in New York. 

He’d only ever seen her with her hair let down, framing her face in loose, blonde waves. She’d tamed it into an elegant up-do for today, and Cas wouldn’t have hesitated to compliment her had it not been for her sad, downturned lips. “He doesn’t deserve this, you know?” she said, after a few minutes of pointless small talk. Its sole purpose had been to fill the silence between each course. “Paul didn’t even _show up_.” 

“What did Dean see in him anyway?” Garrett asked, alert again now that the topic was reopened. 

Jo shrugged. “He was fine for the most part. Like any other boyfriend, really. But Dean wanted so badly for it to work out. He was looking for a serious thing.” 

Cas was staring at his untouched steak like it held the secrets to the universe, but he could swear that Jo’s gaze fell on him in that second, a beat too long to be an accident yet too brief for him to dissect. 

His plate was still half-full when the table was cleared, and he waved the dessert away without a thought. It was the wedding cake, he realized bitterly, taken straight to the kitchen for cutting. He pictured Dean at the bakery, hemming and hawing, and instantly felt sick to his stomach. 

“Hey,” Garrett nudged him eventually, also having passed on a piece of cake. “I’m ready to head back. Are you gonna see if-” he made a vague gesture toward the house behind them. 

“Yeah, I think I’ll stay for a little bit,” Cas smiled weakly. “I’ll text you though.”

Garrett just looked at him, long and quiet, then told him “Okay” before clapping his shoulder. 

Jo had left her seat some time ago to talk to Dean’s parents, who’d rejoined the guests. Both John and Mary looked absolutely beat, the tension obvious in their shoulders and eyes. 

Watching them silently, Castiel stood, slipping back into the jacket he’d draped on a chair and pocketing his phone in slow, stagnant movements. His eyes kept drifting back to the house but the longer he stood, the less certain he felt. Because what gave him the right to see Dean anyhow? Sure, they were friends, and Dean had invited him, but there were dozens of guests still milling about and it was stupid to think he was somehow different. 

He worried, of course, but also felt foolish, and contemplated calling himself a cab then texting Garrett to let him know. He started walking away from the table toward the gate at the side of the house, trying to ignore the ache in his chest and the single lit window on the second floor. 

“Excuse me,” a hand caught his arm, gentle but firm, stopping him. Cas startled and followed the contact to find himself face to face with Dean’s younger brother. “You’re Castiel Novak, right?” 

“Yes,” Cas tilted his head, noting the relief that flooded Sam’s features. 

“I was worried you might’ve left,” Sam smiled tightly. “I’m Sam, Dean’s brother.” 

“It’s nice to meet you, Sam,” Cas shook his hand. “How is, ah… Is Dean… alright?” Sure, it was a useless question, because of course Dean was not alright, but Cas didn’t know how else to ask and felt helpless all over again.

“He’s upstairs,” Sam said with a sigh, which was answer enough and broke Castiel’s heart. It had seemed impossible for Sam to look small yet right now, with his shoulders hunched, he was very much someone’s lost little brother. “I actually came to find you because he’s asking for you,” Sam added softly. 

Castiel blinked. “He wants to see me?” 

Sam nodded, then asked, “Would you mind?” 

“No,” Cas answered quickly. “No, of course, I don’t mind.” His heart beat faster. 

“Good,” Sam smiled once more, a tired curve beneath red-rimmed eyes. “Thank you, Cas, I really…” he shook his head. “This is all so _shitty_ and-” 

“Don’t mention it.” 

Sam accompanied him to the double doors leading into the kitchen and the rest of the house. He thanked Cas a second time and sounded so genuine that Cas couldn’t help but smile back. 

Once on the second floor, finding Dean was easy, his room third on the left like Sam had said. The door was shut, so Castiel knocked, swallowing thickly around his dry mouth. He rocked back on his feet then forward again, trying to listen for the sounds of Dean’s feet on the floor. 

It may have only been seconds before the door clicked open, but Castiel felt like it’d been much longer. None of that mattered when he finally saw Dean, though, his freckles and his eyes and their dark, damp lashes. 

He’d changed out of his tux into a tee and sweats, a well-worn thing with a hole in the shoulder and the Stanford logo faded on the front. Sam’s alma mater, he’d mentioned before, proud and preening on his brother’s behalf. Cas had always liked the way Dean looked in this shirt, all soft and rumpled and casual. 

Dean let the door swing open when he saw it was Cas, and for a minute they stood on either side of the threshold with their eyes to speak where their voices couldn’t. Cas watched Dean carefully, just waiting at first, not moving any closer or touching him. _Whatever he needs_ , Cas thought to himself, and fought the urge to reach for Dean. 

Dean still looked the way he had at the altar, slightly pale from shock and hurt and like he might crumple at any moment. He searched Cas’ face with widened eyes, so achingly beautiful that Cas couldn’t breathe. 

He must have seen what he wanted to find, because one second they were two feet apart and then Cas had Dean’s face in the crook of his neck. His arms went around him immediately, no longer able to resist his desire to shield him. “Hey,” he held Dean close, turning just enough to press a kiss in his hair. “Hey, it’s alright. I’m here, okay?” He tightened his embrace. _You can cry if you want_. 

Perhaps it was his words, or the body language, but he felt Dean tremble and slump against him, letting Cas carry the brunt of his weight. It was hardly a chore, given the size of players he had to push around on a regular basis, and Cas didn’t mind standing there in the hallway if that was what Dean needed from him.

His neck and collar were a little wet when Dean let go and lifted his head. He met Cas’ eyes then looked away, cheeks blotchy from tears and embarrassment. “Sorry,” he wiped his face, the motion too harsh for Castiel’s liking. As gently as he could, Cas moved Dean’s hand and replaced with his own, thumbing Dean’s skin. 

“You have nothing to apologize for.” 

Dean was blushing harder now. “I’m just such a mess.” 

“You _can_ be,” Cas insisted. “What that asshole did…” God, he was so _angry_. 

He kept his hand where it was, cradling Dean’s cheek, relishing how easily Dean leaned into the touch. The physical affection was all too familiar, reminiscent of the time they’d spent together. 

“I wanted to go back out there,” Dean chewed his lip, lowering his eyes. “It wasn’t my fault and I didn’t want to _hide_ but, I didn’t know if I could…” He took a shuddering breath. “So, I was in here with… with my parents and Sammy, and for a while it was just this blur and I couldn’t hear what anyone was saying. And then Sam asked if I needed anything, and I…” Dean finally looked up. “I just thought of you.” 

Cas felt his own heartbeat like a roaring in his ears. “I’m here,” he assured Dean again. 

“You are,” Dean’s smile was small yet brighter than everything else around them. “I’m sorry, I know it’s not fair to drag you into all this. I’m being selfish.” 

“Don’t,” Cas told him fiercely. “I care about you, Dean. I’ll always be your friend.”

Something flickered in Dean’s expression, not quite regret but a sad wistfulness that baffled Cas on how to process it. “Thanks, Cas,” Dean murmured softly, then the flicker was gone and nerves took its place. “When do you leave? Lawrence, I mean.” 

“Tomorrow. Noon, I think.” 

“Oh,” Dean shifted on his feet, and Cas sort of hated how anxious he seemed. 

“I could stay if you want,” he offered first, and a part of him screamed it was a terrible idea, that being with Dean was just torturing himself. Except another voice, more heart than logic, reminded him of how much he’d missed Dean’s company. Dean had been one of his closest friends. 

It didn’t matter that Cas was in love. 

“Really?” Dean smiled unsurely, and oh, he looked hopeful and Cas was hopeless. “Are you sure? I don’t wanna bug you.” 

Cas steered him back through the door. “We can watch _Dr_. _Sexy_.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

They sat on Dean’s bed, propped up against the headboard, with Netflix playing season four of _Dr_. _Sexy_ and Dean occasionally commenting on the episode’s plot. Cas watched one of the doctors make out with a nurse and wondered if the word ‘plot’ was even warranted. Of course, not even neurosurgery in cowboy boots could distract them from the enormous elephant in the room, but Dean looked less and less rattled with each passing minute and that was enough for Cas to stick around.

He’d texted Garrett two episodes ago, and received in reply, ‘Take care of yourself.’ It made him smile, despite everything, because defense really did suit Garrett sometimes. 

“How’s Ian?” Dean asked at one point, apropos to nothing as an episode ended. “San Diego, right? His grandma’s birthday?” 

“Yeah, we, um… We talked earlier.” 

“You and Garrett?”

“Yeah,” Cas said. He could see Dean nod in his periphery. He half-expected a follow-up question but the show resumed and Dean fell quiet. 

When Dean spoke again, and not about the show, it was to ask Castiel about his off-season. The entire conversation felt choppy and stilted but Cas accepted Dean’s effort to catch up for what it was. 

It flowed more smoothly after a few tries, like the gears were oiled again, returning them to their usual back and forth. It didn’t escape Cas’ notice that they were drifting closer, their arms eventually touching in a warm, solid line. If Dean were bothered by the point of contact, it didn’t show in his relaxed posture. In fact, he kept his body leaned against Cas’ and made no attempt to move away from him. The comfort he felt from such close proximity had always been wholly unique to Dean, inherently different from the roughness of hockey and lack of modesty he shared with his teammates.  

“You’re flying to Seattle then?” Dean asked later, his finger tracing patterns on the top of his thigh. Cas wanted so badly to hold Dean’s hand and swiftly quashed the thought, “Seattle for now.” He sneaked a glance at the side of Dean’s face, his sharp cheekbone and the curve of his jaw. “What about you, Dean? What are your plans?” 

Dean shrugged. “I’m not really sure.” He was staring straight ahead but Cas could tell he didn’t register any of what was happening on-screen. “I mean, we made plans for our honeymoon. Well, _I_ made plans. To go to Vermont.” 

Castiel felt a twinge in his chest. Dean had mentioned in the past that he wanted to go. 

“I thought it’d be nice to get away, you know? Stay at a bed and breakfast, do New England-y things. I signed us up for these silly classes, like making jam and scones and stuff. It was probably stupid, I don’t know. Shoot, I should cancel before I forget.” He scanned the room, presumably to look for his laptop, and when he shifted to move away from the headboard, Cas was jarred by the sudden loss of warmth from his side.

“You’ve said that before,” he said without thinking, waiting for Dean to turn his gaze on him. “Vermont. You said before that you wanted to visit. Long before this.”

“Well, yeah,” Dean shrugged again. “It was the first place I thought of when we… you know.” He laughed, forced and self-deprecating. “Can’t believe you remember that.” 

“What I mean to say is…” Castiel paused, hoping Dean wouldn’t think he was overstepping. “You should go.” 

Dean frowned. “Go where?” 

“To Vermont. You should go on the trip.” 

“Oh- _kay_ ,” Dean huffed a noise like Cas’ suggestion were preposterous. “Except it was meant to be a trip for newlyweds and I decidedly did _not_ get married today.” 

“I know,” Cas kept his tone gentle, “but you don’t need him to enjoy Vermont, or make scones for that matter. I’ll bet big money he’s bad at it.” 

Dean quirked a smile. “Yeah, probably.” He was wringing his hands again like he’d done at the ceremony hours ago. “It’s just… This is gonna sound dumb. Is it bad that I don’t want to do all those things alone?” His eyes were big and a little too scared, every emotion etched on his face. 

Cas’ heart clenched for the umpteenth time. “No, it’s not bad, I- I’m sorry, Dean.” He reached for Dean’s hand and squeezed it in his own. “I’m sorry, that was out of line.” 

“Nah, it’s okay, Cas. You were just worried.” 

Castiel smiled. “Understatement.” 

Dean mirrored it softly before grabbing his MacBook, settling back in the spot beside Cas and pulling up his email and a handful of websites. It somehow transitioned to Dean showing Castiel photos of the bed and breakfast, which was admittedly charming with its dark green shutters and open layout and exposed brick walls. “Looks nice, huh?” Dean asked absently, clicking through the B&B’s Instagram page. It was just the sort of place that Cas would’ve rented for Dean and himself in a parallel universe. 

They’d long passed the point of Netflix asking whether they were still watching _Dr_. _Sexy_ , and when Cas saw how late it was on Dean’s laptop screen, he figured it was time to leave. Staying any longer would mean staying over, which was absolutely out of the question. Dean had needed a friend, some familiar company, and Cas had provided it. His work was done. 

Dean followed him out to the hallway. “I’m really glad that we hung out.” 

“Me too,” Cas crooked a smile and pulled him close for one final embrace. 

Dean stepped into his arms, easy as anything, and they slotted together perfectly. “Cas, I… Thank you,” Dean said, and Cas closed his eyes. 

_I love you so much_. 

It was with reluctance that he let Dean go, turning to leave before he lost his grip and blurted something he’d no doubt regret. He could feel Dean’s gaze as he walked to the stairs, heat boring into the back of his head, and he would’ve kept going without a pause had it not been for the catch on his jacket sleeve.

“Dean?” he did stop then. “What’s wrong? Did I forget something?”

“No,” Dean sounded breathless. “I just- I had a question.” 

“Okay,” Cas faced him now, crease between his brows. “Sure, what is it?” 

Dean released his sleeve but his fingers lingered, eyes fixed on a point beyond Cas’ shoulder. “So, I was wondering if you’d, um… If maybe you would come to Vermont with me.” 

Cas was confident he’d heard him wrong. There was no way Dean had said- “You want me there?” 

“I was pretty set on just canceling, and then you suggested…” Dean’s cheeks were so pink. “You’re right, I don’t need Paul. I don’t need it to be a honeymoon. But I meant it when I said I don’t want to go alone and- I know I’d have a great time if I went with you.” 

Castiel felt like his head was spinning. This was the last thing he’d expected to be asked. “Dean, wouldn’t you rather… I mean, are you sure?” 

“I wouldn’t be asking if I weren’t,” Dean said. “I know it’s last-minute… a-and I’m putting you on the spot and- God, what am I even…” he rubbed at his eyes. He sounded so quiet – broken, almost – and if Cas were being honest with himself, he’d already caved when Dean stopped him on the landing. 

“I’m not that great at baking.” 

Dean raised his head, lips parted. “What?” 

“I’ve made cookies for our holiday parties but they’re Pepperidge Farm,” Cas smiled slightly. 

“Cas…” Dean looked overwhelmed, like he’d never believed that Cas would agree. 

“I only packed for two days but I can get stuff there. Is the flight tomorrow?” 

“Yeah,” Dean said sheepishly. “I’ll, um, I can call and see-” 

Cas squeezed his arm. “Just text me the info.” He could tell Dean wanted to thank him, but if Dean were aware of Cas’ feelings for him, that this decision wasn’t completely selfless, that it would be impossible for Cas to deny him anything or pass on the chance to spend time with him- Surely, if Dean knew, he’d go running for the hills, and Cas couldn’t have that. He couldn’t lose Dean. 

‘Change of plans,’ he texted Garrett back in his hotel room half-an-hour later. ‘Not going home tomorrow. Will tell you later.’ 

His phone chimed three times in rapid succession. 

The first one read, ‘Seriously, Cas?’ followed by ‘Knew this would happen’ and ‘Dean okay?’ 

He was in the middle of replying to the third when he received a new text, throwing his attention. It was from Dean with the flight details and a sweet ‘See you tomorrow. :)’

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The bed and breakfast in Norwich, Vermont was owned by Benny and Andrea Lafitte. They were greeted by Andrea, who was manning the front, when they arrived the following afternoon. It’d been a near full day of travel, from Kansas City to Boston Logan then a two-hour drive in their rental car. After hours of breathing recycled air and the linen-scented freshener in their Range Rover, the actual outdoors were a welcome change he and Dean both relished as they unloaded the trunk.

There was lemonade and cookies waiting for them, which they quickly devoured while being checked in. They made a bit of small talk with Andrea, who asked about their flight and drive from Boston while she pulled up Dean’s reservation on the computer. “We’re always happy to host couples on their honeymoon,” she said, because that’s what Dean had told her when he booked the room, and although the comment didn’t faze Cas much, it made Dean flush and choke around his cookie. 

“Actually,” he started to say, but Cas reached out to curl a hand around his wrist. Cas held his gaze and tried to convey that it was okay, they should run with it. 

“Sorry, did you say something?” Andrea asked as she gathered their keys. 

Dean shook his head. “No, we just- We’re looking forward to staying here.” 

That made her smile, bright and kind, reaching all the way up to her dark brown eyes. “I’m glad to hear that, Dean. Your room is all set if you’re ready to head up. The stairs are to our left.” 

She offered to send her husband to help with their bags, but it was just Dean’s suitcase and Cas’ carry-on, so an extra pair of hands seemed superfluous. Their room sat at the end of the second-floor hallway overlooking the landscape behind the house, decorated in a palette of pale blues from the chaise to the crisp, fresh sheets. 

Cas could tell that Dean was fretting, either over the bed or the handwritten notecard sitting on top that said ‘Welcome, Newlyweds!’ He pushed their luggage against the vanity and emptied his pockets of his wallet and phone, giving Dean a few minutes to process it all before returning to him, smiling gently. 

“You okay?” he nudged Dean’s shoulder, watching the way Dean stared at the bed like his heart were breaking all over again. The anger that had quelled with a day in transit swiftly resurfaced with renewed intensity. Of course, Paul would pervade Dean’s thoughts, but that didn’t mean that Cas had to like it. 

“Hmm?” Dean sounded dazed, like nothing that Cas could say would convince him to stop looking at the bed. His fingers twitched beside his thighs and he hunched his shoulders as if in defense. It was enough for Cas to pluck the note off the bed and walk over to the wastebasket without a pause. 

“Do you want the shower first?” he rumbled softly, and it seemed like his moving about had successfully drawn Dean’s attention away from the bed. His eyes were still wide and vulnerable, his stance uncertain in their spacious room. It brought back the distinct, uncomfortable feeling from the wedding the previous day. 

“No, you go ahead. I’m gonna change first,” Dean waved toward his suitcase with a tired smile. “Maybe we can grab some food afterward, in town?” 

Cas could see him trying, and it ached. 

“Sounds good.” 

Dean was asleep when Cas got out of the shower, which had been expected from how beaten and weary Dean looked with the past twenty four-plus hours weighing on him. He was lying on his side, above the covers, like he’d fought the temptation to sleep and lost. His lips were chapped from the plane and gone a little slack, letting his breaths come through in a slow, steady rhythm. 

He’d changed, at least, out of his travel clothes into a t-shirt and flannel pants. They might’ve been too much for early July but their room held a chill from the air conditioning. He stirred when Castiel joined him, draping the blanket he’d found on the chaise over both their bodies from feet to waist. They didn’t cuddle but it was a close thing, with Dean’s hands curled softly in Cas’ shirt like he were afraid of being left behind.

He still smelled faintly of musty airplane, mixed with the more familiar scent of his citrus shampoo, and Castiel dwelled in that intimacy until he caught himself and shut his brain to it. He couldn’t forget what they were doing, what _he_ was doing, coming here with Dean. None of this was real in ways that mattered, and if the truth had to pinch him throughout this week to remind him of the fact, then so be it. 

He didn’t remember falling asleep, but the sun was dimmer when his eyes reopened and he saw on the clock that it’d been a couple hours. Dean had burrowed closer in that time, as if seeking warmth like a languid cat. He’d always remarked that Castiel ran hot, complained grumpily that his own feet were cold before shoving them against Cas’ to steal the heat. 

It only took another ten minutes for Dean to wake up, likely pulled from sleep by his empty stomach as had been the case for Cas, who was completely famished. Dean confirmed his guess with a groggy voice, rolling out of bed all slow and heavy-limbed and demanding that they find food immediately. He did look better, grumbling aside, more color in his cheeks and brighter eyes and an easier smile as he grabbed new clothes. Cas called the front for restaurant suggestions to distract himself from staring too long. 

Her recommendations ended up taking them across the river into New Hampshire. She’d named a couple places in Hanover, just under two miles from the B&B, and they decided on a casual spot on Main Street where the complimentary bread came with honey butter. It was crowded but not suffocating, packed with summer term students in Dartmouth gear and cheerful locals occupying the bar. He ordered steak and a three-dollar marg, which was apparently a staple according to their server. Dean chose the chicken carbonara and, with not that much persuasion, requested a second margarita for himself. 

“I looked at the dates for the classes,” Dean said. “The first one’s not until the day after tomorrow.” 

“We’re free tomorrow then?” Castiel asked. 

“Yeah, we hadn’t, um, made any plans.” 

“So, we’ll make one now,” Cas shrugged in response, ignoring Dean’s stumbling on the ‘we’ and refusing to have Paul’s shadow loom over this trip. “Isn’t the Ben and Jerry’s factory somewhere around here?” 

Dean looked a bit surprised. “You want to go?” 

Cas tried not to grin at him over his drink. “It’s ice cream, Dean. What do you think?” 

“Hey, you’re the one who gets all crazy about saturated fats and electrolytes.” 

Cas chuckled under his breath. “We’re on vacation, and I’ve _seen_ your pressed juices, don’t even try.” 

“Yeah, yeah,” Dean rolled his eyes. “Hell, I’ve already had pasta. What’s ice cream gonna do.” 

Castiel laughed. “That’s the spirit.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Andrea had mentioned when they first checked in that breakfast was prepared by her husband Benny, a former chef and Louisiana transplant who cooked incredibly and was quick to laugh. The other guests, who’d gotten there earlier, tripped over themselves to rave about the food, showing off their pictures of yesterday’s lemon ricotta French toast that Benny had served with blueberry sauce. 

There was a group of friends who’d traveled from London while the rest were couples from around New England. They didn’t seem to recognize either of them, which Cas found refreshing more than anything else. That, of course, didn’t dampen their curiosity once Andrea informed them of their newlywed status. Breakfast became a makeshift media scrum after that, with everyone eager to learn about the two new faces that’d joined the table.

Thankfully, the questions weren’t too specific, and he and Dean could talk vaguely about how they met, how long they’d known each other without lying. Cas fielded the ones about the wedding, mostly because Dean had gone a little pale at having to rehash the details. Their audience was clearly too busy picturing an idyllic backyard wedding to notice anything out of the ordinary. 

“You’re good at that,” Dean told him later as they trooped out the door to their rental car. 

Cas cocked his head. “Good at what?” he asked, finding the way Dean ducked his head too devastating for ten in the morning. 

They were standing on opposite sides of the hood, and Cas heard Dean scuff his toe in the gravel before lifting his eyes to look at Cas. “Answering questions,” he replied simply. “You’ve pretty much mastered the art of soundbites.” 

“I’ve had years of practice,” Castiel huffed, “and it’s not like you’re a stranger to interviews.” 

“Sure, but they’re rarely live,” Dean said, drumming his fingers on the windshield. “Anyway, I, um…” he trailed off, going quiet again like there were too many thoughts on his mind for him to choose and voice  just one. 

“Dean?” Cas prompted him softly, tightening his grip around the car keys and feeling the metal dig into his palm. He watched as Dean’s expression morphed from something blank into a lopsided smile, and it wasn’t effortless but all the more pretty for it, waking up the butterflies in Cas’ stomach. 

“ _Anyway_ , I was gonna say that I’m ready for ice cream,” Dean huffed a bright laugh. Cas knew it wasn’t the truth but indulged him regardless, and gestured for him to hop in the car. 

It was an hour-long drive to Waterbury, and they arrived just in time to snag the last two tickets for the eleven-thirty tour. Dean took their tickets from the window clerk and offered one to Cas with an excited grin, and there was something so innocent about it, almost childlike. 

He was so cute. 

Their guide was a buoyant redhead who led them through the factory while walking backwards. He had on a blue hat with a tiny cow and the Ben and Jerry’s logo embroidered on it, and he stopped the group on the elevated walkway so they could look down at the ice cream being made. 

“Now, there’s a dream job right there,” Dean said as they passed the Flavor Lab. A handwritten sign on the window read ‘I play with food for a living,’ and Dean pouted so hard that Castiel laughed and tugged him away before he tried to break in.

Everyone got a scoop of Strawberry Cheesecake at the end of the tour, and they took their bowls outside to the Flavor Graveyard, a tiny, park-like area with headstones for all the flavors that’d been pulled from the shelves. Dean thought they were hilarious, stopping at each one to read the rhyming epitaphs. “Look at this,” he pointed, laughing around his spoon. “‘What brought its ruin no one knows. Must have been the pistachios.’” 

Cas snorted. “Why read Shakespeare when you have these.” 

“Exactly. Aw, Cas, this one only lasted a year.” Dean made a show of wiping his eyes, which struck Cas as both ridiculous and ridiculously endearing. God, he couldn’t be more gone for Dean if he tried and he had it _bad_. Real bad. 

“You want another scoop of something?” 

“Nah, I’m good,” Dean smiled at him. He peered at Cas through the thick of his lashes, his plush bottom lip tucked between his teeth. Then his hand lifted slowly, hesitant, until he could touch his finger to Cas’ mouth. “You… have a little something there,” he explained quietly, cheeks flushed pink. Cas felt Dean’s thumb at the corner of his lips and swallowed hard, throat suddenly dry. 

“Thanks,” he mumbled softly, the heat on the back of his neck having nothing to do with the sun. Dean’s fingers lingered and caught on the bristles of the five o’clock across his jaw.

“Forgot to shave, huh?” Dean teased him lightly before dropping his hand and stepping away. “Let’s go back to the entrance. I want a picture.” 

Cas forced a smile. “Yeah, sure thing.” 

He took a couple of Dean by himself, standing in front of the Ben and Jerry’s van with a goofy expression splitting his face. His eyes practically sparkled in the afternoon light and Cas felt his breath hitch at how beautiful he looked. But Dean didn’t let him stay out of the frame for long, and after the briefest moment came forward to take the phone and flip the camera. The next four photos were of the two of them, Cas’ eyes squinting the sun and Dean’s smile wide and bright. Dean was always so serious in his photoshoots and Cas sort of loved seeing him like this. 

He asked Dean to text him the photos, and while Dean perused the gift shop, debated whether he should set one as his background. His fingers hovered over the screen; he was probably tormenting himself. It was just nice, the picture of them, nothing but softness around Dean’s eyes. 

In the end, Dean called him over before he’d had the chance to decide either way. He helped Dean find a mug that said ‘Sam’ and cast all the rest aside as a moment of weakness.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Cas thought the most concerning aspect of the trip was how quickly they fell into a pattern. Each passing hour and every activity made it easier to act like a couple. Staying close, of course, was no hardship. It was almost effortless to be affectionate with Dean, to keep a hand on the small of his back and let their arms brush while they learned to make jam. 

They left the class with three full jars – blackberry, strawberry, and pear. Cas had carefully labeled each one in his perpetually caps-locked script, and the glass was sticky from the residue on Dean’s fingertips, but they’d taken turns stirring for twenty minutes straight and Cas only cared about the proud smile on Dean’s face. 

“We should give this one to Benny,” Dean said in the car, holding up the strawberry jam. He was bathed in buttery golden light and seemed content when Cas agreed. 

Benny looked impressed when they held out the jar, though all they’d really done was follow instructions. The jam debuted at breakfast the following morning and Benny saw to it they were showered with praise. 

They ate lunch and dinner all over town, on outdoor patios where they felt the breeze or dimly-lit places that were more intimate. Cas began to get recognized, their meals interrupted so he could sign napkins, and he felt bad but Dean just smiled, leaning back in his chair with a proprietary expression that drove Cas a little crazy. 

But regardless of Cas’ suffering, none of the fans who approached them in restaurants bat an eye at the other man sitting at the table. People were generally programmed to assume they were friends and Cas had to admit that they weren’t wrong, technically. He hadn’t married Dean and this wasn’t a honeymoon. 

It was just getting harder and harder to fall back to reality after a day of make-believe.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

“He didn’t really want to come to Vermont,” Dean told him halfway into the trip. They’d gone into town because Cas needed more clothes, having originally packed for a shorter trip. Dean had suggested take-out instead of dining and picked a wood-fired pizza place ten minutes away. They were back at the B&B now in their shirts and sweats, the empty cardboard box on the bed between them.

Cas just looked at him, eyebrows raised, not wanting to push for elaboration and trusting Dean to set his own mileage. He wiped his fingers on a paper napkin and tossed it into the box with the abandoned crusts, keeping his eyes duly locked on Dean to let him know he had Cas’ attention. 

“He went to summer camps as a kid. Somewhere in Mass. The Berkshires, I think? He said coming here would be more of the same and thought we should go somewhere that wasn’t so quaint.” Dean released a helpless laugh, meeting Cas’ eyes then looking down again. “I mean, I doubt that was the reason why he, um… you know. But I probably shouldn’t have been so stubborn.” 

Cas felt the anger rise up like bile, both at Dean for blaming himself, and Paul for putting Dean in such a position. He thought if _he’d_ had the chance Paul had, he wouldn’t have dared to ever fuck it up, though that was problem, wasn’t it? He’d never had that chance; he’d let it slip by. That wasn’t to say that Dean would’ve chosen him had Cas worked up the nerve before Paul was in the picture. His attempt at bravery had come too late and there was no use in regretting it now. 

“It wasn’t your fault,” he said vehemently. “If this was the trip you’d always wanted, then it shouldn’t’ve mattered where he’d been before. Even if he’d come here a hundred times, none of those times would’ve been with you. _You_ are what matters most and not the place. He should’ve known that.”

He barely heard himself as the words tumbled out, and could only gauge the situation by Dean’s reaction. Surprise turned into awe and something soft that Cas couldn’t place. He looked a little flushed and Cas felt the same, his emotions bared for the world to see.

“I…” Dean began quietly, his eyes so wide and vulnerable. “You’re right,” he finally said, as though Cas had imparted wisdom he didn’t already know. 

And maybe he hadn’t, Cas considered, being in the thick of things and too involved. Cas knew firsthand how blinding that could be and perhaps Dean hadn’t noticed the warning signs. 

“Can I ask you something?” he said cautiously, and took a deep breath when Dean gave him a nod. “Did you believe he was the one?” he asked, watching Dean’s expression, hoping it wouldn’t shutter. 

It didn’t, but Dean did pause, frowning as he stared past Castiel’s shoulder and twisted his finger in the drawstrings of his pants. He paused for long enough that Castiel worried, wondering if the question had been too much, but when he spoke it was pure, raw honesty. Just above a whisper. “I don’t know.” 

Cas’ heart lurched inside his chest, and he let the silence descend around them, giving Dean the choice again to speak if he wanted. 

“Maybe,” Dean said so softly. “Maybe I wanted him to be the one.” His eyes began to shine with unshed tears and Cas shoved the box aside to reach for him. 

“Hey,” he took Dean’s hand, cradling it gently. “It’s okay to want that.” 

Dean’s laugh sounded sharp as he shook his head. “It doesn’t feel like it is,” he said miserably. “There’s a part of me that thinks it was for the best and… Christ, how awful is that? What was I thinking, letting myself… Shit, listen to me. I’m not making sense.” 

And Dean didn’t, not completely, but Cas climbed off the bed to move the box to the coffee table, safely out of reach. When he returned, he was close enough that Dean could slump forward against Cas’ body. His mussed, brown hair tickled Cas’ cheek and his weight felt like the only thing anchoring Cas. 

“I’m sorry he hurt you,” Castiel said as he wound an arm around Dean’s strong shoulders. He held Dean tightly, heart beating double time. “I’m sorry I can’t make it better.” 

Dean’s breath felt wet in the crook of his neck, and Cas heard a muffled, “Shut up. You are.” Dean held onto him too, hand fisted in his shirt. “You do make it better, Cas. Thanks for coming with me.” 

Castiel knew he wouldn’t have this much longer – all this precious, undisturbed time with Dean. It hurt like hell but it was necessary, if anything to find some closure for himself. What that closure would be, he had no idea, because what he knew for sure was how he felt about Dean and everything else took a backseat to it. He had three more days to figure it out, and, for now, he closed his eyes and let Dean lean against him while he still could.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Two days later, Dean took the car keys and drove them to the biggest bakery Cas had ever seen. It was bustling with visitors who looked as awed as he felt, and Dean wasted no time before grabbing a cart and leading them determinedly to the store. They wound their way around the flours and spreads, their cart filling up with baking mixes, fancy cake pans, and cookie cutters. “We should ship these to yours,” Cas said amusedly, watching Dean eye a mix for vanilla bean cheesecake bars. 

“Yeah, that’s a good idea,” Dean glanced at the cart then promptly blushed. “I guess I got too excited,” he crinkled his eyes, and he was so handsome standing there, in his casual jeans with a box in his hand. 

“You’ll be baking for months,” Cas teased him gently, mostly out of affection than anything else. It was a secret for trainers to figure out how Dean and his sweet tooth stayed in shape, but Cas also knew that Dean’s favorite part was sharing the bounty with everyone else.

“Well, don’t act like you’re exempt from taste testing. I know for a fact that you’re weak for lemon bars.” Dean shot him a grin, all smug and pretty, and Cas couldn’t help but be a little overwhelmed. Because Dean wasn’t wrong, Cas did like them; there’d been a half-eaten batch at Dean’s one time that Cas did some damage on, sitting at the island. Dean had walked into the kitchen in Cas’ shirt, laughed fondly at him while Castiel grumbled. He’d brushed the crumbs off Cas’ lips and kissed him sweet, licking into his mouth, until heat pooled low in Castiel’s belly and he eventually gave into taking Dean back to bed.   

Dean did mail him a whole batch a couple weeks later, and Cas had opened the box, slowly, in his own kitchen and stared at the contents for a long, long time. 

“We’ll see,” he answered weakly, reeling from the implication behind Dean’s words. He hadn’t had time to give much thought to what would happen once the trip was done, but he’d at least known better than to expect anything, and especially not seeing each other like they used to do. “I might switch to scones once we take this class.” He took out his phone. “We should head over, by the way.” 

If Dean noticed any awkwardness, he didn’t comment or change his expression. He merely made a joke about betraying the lemon bars before letting Cas push the cart to the check-out area. 

They put the purchases away in the back of their car then walked to the baking school across from the store. Their classroom was large with slanted roofs and cheery walls the color of custard. The tools and ingredients were already laid out, so he followed Dean to one of the stations and reached for the aprons folded on the chair. The ties crossed at his back and looped to the front where he secured them together in a messy bow. 

It was clear that Dean had, for Paul’s sake, chosen an easy class meant for beginners. Instructions were given one step at a time like tiny morsels even children could eat. Still, random smudges of flour found their way onto Cas’ forearms throughout the class, plus some on his face from scratching his cheek just after kneading and rolling out the dough. 

Dean, predictably, found it delightful, his tongue poking out between his teeth as he grabbed a kitchen towel and tried to clean him off. “You’re a mess,” he chuckled softly, like he didn’t have flour on the end of his chin. It was all a bit devastating, if Cas were honest, having Dean this close and looking domestic.

“Oh, really. Look who’s talking.” Cas swiped his thumb across the dimple in Dean’s chin. “Can’t take you anywhere,” he murmured low, and reveled in the pink that spread on Dean’s face. 

The blush didn’t fade as the class moved on, from stamping out rounds with the dough cutter to beating an egg to brush on the scones. They kept on touching, bumping into each other, reaching for the same things, unable to stay apart. They were both hyperaware and oversensitive, like they were magnetized and couldn’t help themselves. 

The scones were in the oven for thirteen minutes, and they had clotted cream and raspberry jam and a selection of teas to try with them. They were delicious, dense yet fluffy, though once the bright jam got smeared on Dean’s lips, Cas’ senses sort of tunneled and he felt his breath hitch. They each ate one and split the second before boxing up the rest to take with them. “Not bad, huh?” Dean licked his fingers. 

Cas swallowed hard. “Yeah, for sure.” 

The entire day had put Dean in a good mood, which only escalated during dinner when they split a bottle of a full-bodied red. He’d ordered tagliatelle alla Bolognese while Cas got his usual, medium steak. They leisurely made their way through clearing the entrées as Dean’s cheeks grew pinker and his smile wider. 

They ended up opening a second bottle, and by the time they walked back to the B&B, Dean’s lips were stained a faint burgundy. He kept veering into Cas on the sidewalk, smiling and laughing every time he did. It was flirtatious and irresistible, and Cas could kick himself for how much it affected him. 

Andrea took one look at them coming in through the door before breaking into a knowing smile. “Had a good time?” she asked them fondly, laughing when Dean hugged her and kissed her cheek. “He makes a cute drunk,” she said to Cas, crinkling her eyes at him over Dean’s shoulder. 

“I think I’m adorable,” Dean claimed in response, pulling back to grin at her, all dimples and teeth. Only Dean could so easily get away with saying something like that and still be charming, and Andrea laughed at Cas’ expression, sort of long-suffering and entirely smitten. 

He kept one hand on the small of Dean’s back as they headed up the stairs and down to their room. The windows were shut but the air felt cool on their sun-kissed skin, an instant relief. “Should we get another bottle?” Dean listed against him, and Cas shook his head, huffing out a laugh. 

“I don’t think so,” he steadied Dean, long enough to get him situated on the couch. “You can have some water though,” he added with a smile, laughing again when Dean whined, “Bor- _ing_.” He opened the mini fridge to peek at the contents and grabbed one of the Fiji waters lining the shelf. 

Dean drained the whole mug when Castiel offered it, and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. It made his already-red mouth glisten a little and Cas took the mug back, gripping it tight. “What are you standing for?” Dean frowned at him, looking a bit like a disgruntled kitten. He made an impatient noise when Cas said nothing and tugged on Cas’ wrist to sit him down. 

Cas indulged him without any protest, sank down on the couch and placed the mug on the table, letting Dean lean against him like some cruel déjà-vu. He smelled sweet, of summer and wine, his lashes dark around sleepy eyes, and he blinked at Cas with a smile so soft that Cas’ heart leapt. “Hey,” he said. 

Cas smiled. “Hello, Dean,” he replied. “Did you have a good time today?” 

“Yeah,” Dean’s cheeks were still flushed. “What about you? Did you have fun?” 

“I did,” Cas was quick to assure him, because he _had_ and that was the truth. As hard as it was to know Dean was hurting, as much as it ached to want what wasn’t his, this trip had made it abundantly clear that Dean was the reason for most of his smiles. It was a problem – one he acknowledged – but he had no idea what to do to solve it. 

“Good,” Dean mumbled softly. “I… I hoped you would.” 

His lashes dipped as he dropped his gaze, and he grew quiet, a little subdued. Cas noted the thoughtful moue of his mouth and wondered what robbed Dean of his cheerful mood. “Hey,” he pressed their arms together, nudging Dean’s shoulder. “Penny for your thoughts.” 

“Hmm?” Dean tilted his head to meet Cas’ eyes. “Oh. It’s nothing.” But Cas’ expression must’ve seemed skeptical, which only appeared to make him nervous somehow. 

“Dean,” Cas prompted gently. “You can talk to me, if you want.” 

“I…” Dean paused, unsure. “I dunno if it’s something you want to hear.” 

“Try me,” Castiel said, locking their eyes until Dean blushed again. 

Dean peered at him for a while, sort of scared and vulnerable. He didn’t look tired anymore but restless, all rigid lines and alertness on his face. He chewed on his lip as Castiel waited, then let out a frustrated, gusty breath. “No,” he moved away before rising to his feet. “Forget it, okay?” 

“Dean,” Cas said, concerned, but Dean kept walking, shaking his head. 

“Forget it, I can’t,” he said, and wouldn’t look at Cas when he caught up to him. 

“Dean,” Cas reached for his hand and felt it tremble inside his own. He rubbed his thumb against Dean’s racing pulse point, tender and soothing, watching Dean’s face. “I didn’t mean to upset you,” he told him gently. “You don’t have to tell me. It’s alright.” 

Dean didn’t pull free from Cas’ touch but still refused to make eye contact. “It’s just not fair to you, Cas. Not when this isn’t… and _you_ don’t even…” 

“Don’t what?” Cas asked. He didn’t move closer, lest Dean not want it, but observed the shifts in Dean’s expression. His face was a palette of conflicting emotions, his lips a mess from teeth and wine. 

“You’ve been really great,” Dean sounded sad, and Cas was puzzled by the troubled tone. “Not just this week but, ever since we met… I hate to think what would’ve happened if we never had.” His expression now showed nothing but raw, open honesty and Cas felt his heart swell with perfect fondness. “This trip, having you here… I guess it reminded me of a lot of things.” 

“Reminded,” Castiel echoed. He had no clue what Dean was trying to tell him. 

“Yeah, just…” Dean ducked his head, his lashes casting shadows on his absurdly high cheekbones. “Stuff I’ve been avoiding for the past year or two, you know, after I…” 

After he met Paul. 

“You asked, a couple days ago, if I’d thought he was the one,” Dean finally looked up. “I was telling you the truth when I said I’d _wanted_ him to be, but I also might’ve- I wasn’t totally honest.” 

Cas kept their gaze and didn’t interrupt, heart hammering in his chest and not knowing what to expect.

“It wasn’t that I didn’t know,” Dean let out a sigh. “He _wasn’t_ the one.” He’d curled in on himself, some kind of defense, like he were afraid of how Cas would react. “I’d already known that, going in, but I kept on hoping that things would change. Like, maybe I’d wake up one day and be crazy about him, be madly in love, just… _anything_.” He’d turned red again, guilty and shameful, hands clenched into fists on top of his thighs. “It took time but I thought it’d worked. I mean, I was really happy when he proposed.” The laugh that followed was a low, bitter thing – another reminder of the wedding that wasn’t. 

“You talked to him,” Castiel said, and then clarified, “At the wedding, I mean.” 

“Yeah,” Dean replied mildly, though his body language was anything but. The resigned tone of his voice was at odds with the humiliation he exuded in waves, which Castiel saw in the tightness around his eyes, the upsetting curve of his downturned lips. He reached out without thinking it through, placing his hand over one of Dean’s. He didn’t speak; the gesture said most of it. Dean’s fingers unfurled slightly beneath his. 

Dean took a shaky breath. “He said there’s someone else.” 

His words were so quiet that Cas almost missed them. 

Cas blinked, lips parted in surprise. “Who?” 

Dean didn’t seem angry, just embarrassed. He wasn’t looking at Cas anymore. “Someone from work. A new associate, I think. I don’t- I dunno, I… He says it’s serious.” 

“How…” Cas felt his blood boil. “That fucking _asshole_ ,” he growled. “How long?” 

“He didn’t say,” Dean stared at his hands, one still covered by Cas’ own. “Long enough for him to decide to call off the wedding, so I guess the specifics don’t really matter.” He shrugged and Cas’ heart clenched at his struggle to hold a smile. “I went into it for all the wrong reasons, you know? I deserved everything that happened and Paul… I think… It was right for him to leave.” 

“But you tried,” Cas told him softly. “You tried to make it work and he…” Fuck. _Fuck_.

Although it had happened, and Cas had been there, it was painful to voice the events out loud. Paul had _left_ Dean at the altar, alone to deal with the fallout, the shame, the whispers. Even if it’d been a blessing in disguise that inadvertently saved them from a doomed marriage, it was a horrible thing to have done, and Cas was still furious on Dean’s behalf. 

“It didn’t work though,” Dean eventually said, cutting into the quiet descended around them. “Not really, I mean…” he sighed. “It if had, I wouldn’t be like this.” 

“What do you mean?” Castiel frowned. He didn’t understand. “Be like what?” 

“Like _this_ ,” Dean huffed in frustration, visibly defeated. “Just… I never got over…” His eyes looked huge and watery now, setting off alarms in Castiel’s head. 

“Dean-” he started to say but didn’t know how to finish, how to make it okay. 

The alarms were deafening when Dean spoke again. 

“I never got over you.” 

The words struck him like a punch. “What?” he said, almost positive that he’d misheard. 

Dean closed his eyes, looking miserable. “I’m in love with you, Cas.” 

God, Cas couldn’t breathe.

“Dean,” he stared at him, his throat so dry and his body _shaking_. “Dean, if this- You can’t just say-” 

Dean flinched. “I know, I’m sorry.” He’d opened his eyes but kept them lowered to the floor. “You don’t have to do anything… We can stay friends or, or not if you don’t…” 

“ _Dean_ ,” Cas said more firmly, because he absolutely couldn’t take this anymore. He lifted his hand from Dean’s hand to his shoulder. “Dean, come on, please look at me.” 

Dean obliged, eventually, and Cas tried his best not to look alarmed. He took a deep breath, putting his thoughts in order, because this was Dean and he couldn’t fuck it up. “Dean, you can’t tell me that… that you _love_ me, not unless you mean it,” he said carefully. “If this is some kind of rebound thing…” 

He could pretend it never happened, couldn’t he? 

“I can pretend it never happened,” he assured Dean, mostly an attempt to convince himself. He’d better nip this in the bud for self-preservation, not that he was ever exemplary in that department. “Dean, I’ll be here for you. Whatever you need,” he barreled on, heart lurching in his chest. “But I can’t have you for a little while only to lose you. I love you too much.” 

And there it was, finally out in the open. His worst-kept secret for Dean to see. A part of him felt like a weight had been lifted, another like he was flayed and vulnerable. 

Dean blinked. “You love me?” he breathed, as if the concept of that were improbable. Somewhere along the way, Castiel’s hand had slid from his shoulder up to his neck, and Dean leaned into it, eyes fluttering, unreasonably beautiful. “You love me.” 

“Of course, I do,” Cas kept their gaze steady. “I’d be crazy not to, I mean… Have you met you?” 

Dean blushed to the tips of his ears and, by god, it was a sight to behold. “How long?” he asked demurely. 

“I’m not sure. A long time, I think.” 

“Oh,” Dean looked a bit awestruck. “You never… I didn’t know.” 

He sounded contrite, which Cas didn’t want; just as he hadn’t had a clue of Dean’s feelings for him, the same couldn’t have been expected of Dean in return. Neither he nor Dean was a mind reader, or a great communicator, as it would seem. 

“What about you?” Cas asked. “How long?” 

Dean smiled at him shyly. “Three years,” he said. “Remember when they… when they gave you the ‘C’? You were in New York, so we met up and I… It occurred to me that I didn’t want you to leave.” 

Cas remembered. It was warm for September, the trees on Dean’s street gone orange and yellow. They were both slightly buzzed from the swanky champagne Dean had bought upon hearing the news. 

He’d felt as bubbly as the drink in his glass, knowing that the blood, sweat, and tears he’d poured in as a Metro had culminated into the letter now sewn on his jersey. He’d earned the trust and respect of the organization, and he was beyond excited to lead his team, though the inevitable burden that came with the captaincy settled suddenly, and heavily, on his shoulders. He remembered sharing all this with Dean, lying on the couch with his head in Dean’s lap. He’d closed his eyes, Dean’s fingers in his hair, and he- 

“I didn’t want to leave either.” 

Dean’s answering smile was bright and open, if a little wistful. “We wasted so much time.” 

“Maybe,” Cas caressed Dean’s cheek, “but we’re here now, right? Better late than never.” 

“I almost…” Dean bit his lip, then let it go. “I almost lost you for good.” 

“Almost,” because Dean wasn’t wrong. “You didn’t, though, and I didn’t lose you.”

“No,” Dean whispered hoarsely, voice rough with emotion as he added, “Thank god.” It startled a laugh out of Cas, just the sheer relief, and he gladly reciprocated when Dean leaned forward to wrap his arms around Cas’ neck. “Cas…” Dean said against his cheek, his breath a warm puff on Cas’ skin. He burrowed close like he was holding on, as if he would blink and realize this had all been a dream. 

Cas brought his hand up to cup the back of Dean’s head and Dean sighed at the touch, soft and intimate. They could feel each other’s heartbeat and it was amazing, loud and quick from nothing but joy. 

They didn’t kiss, not right away, relishing this newness, fragile like a fawn. Everything had changed and everything was a thrill, even the easy, familiar gestures like Cas pressing his lips to the corner of Dean’s mouth. They stayed close without a care for the time, Dean nestled in his lap and their limbs entangled. Cas thought they could’ve fallen asleep like that if Dean hadn’t asked, “What happens now?” 

Cas carded his fingers through Dean’s ruffled hair, frowning in thought as he gathered his words. “What do you want?” he asked at last. “Do you want us to be together?” 

“I know it’s more… complicated for you,” Dean pulled back to look at him. “But yeah, that’s- _Being_ with you, that’s what I want,” he said breathlessly. Cas felt his heart thrum with happiness and, for a moment, he could hardly speak. Dean’s eyes were so hopeful and a little bit anxious as he studied Cas. “Is… that what _you_ want?” 

Cas almost laughed but caught himself, because of course, _of course_ he wanted- 

“More than anything,” he said to Dean. “I want to be yours more than anything.” 

Dean’s smile was like the sun, his eyes like stars. 

Cas held it all in his hands – and they did kiss then.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

They spent their last day in Norwich doing not much of anything, taking advantage of the Lafitte’s back porch to literally sit and watch the birds go by. For lunch, they crossed the street to a quaint little diner and Dean let Cas steal most of his fries. 

They technically had all afternoon to pack, but the pace was glacial due to frequent interruptions. Dean could barely fold a shirt before Cas swooped in to hug him from behind and demand his attention. “Cas, I’m trying to pack,” he laughed and squirmed as Cas kissed his shoulder. 

“Just throw it all in,” Cas suggested mildly. 

Dean ignored the advice. “You’re a menace,” he said. 

Of course, it wasn’t any better the other way around, with Cas trying to shove all the clothes he’d bought into a carry-on that threatened to burst. Dean generously offered to sit on the suitcase while Cas could be in charge of zipping the thing, except all it led to was Cas bending down to kiss the impish expression off of Dean’s face. 

It just felt so natural, being with Dean, to kiss and hold and laugh with him. In some ways, it confirmed their decision; in other ways, it terrified Cas. It scared him precisely because it was so important; Dean was precious, and dear to him. They’d come such a long way to get to this point and Cas was determined not to mess it up. 

The Lafittes were there to see them off the next morning, Andrea looking slightly teary-eyed while they loaded their luggage into the car. They each got hugs from her and Benny, who’d packed them jambon-buerres to take for the road. Cas made a mental note to fill them in one day, on how the trip had actually brought him and Dean together. 

Dean must have had a similar idea, waving at the couple till they faded from view. “I sort of want to tell them about us,” he said. 

Cas smiled. “She gave me their email.” 

Their flights were leaving an hour apart, Cas’ first to Seattle then Dean’s to New York. It was luckily the same airline and terminal, allowing them some quiet time to spend in the lounge. They couldn’t exactly kiss or be affectionate, but no one noticed their feet beneath the table they shared, playing lazy footsie while they sipped their coffees. They didn’t hold hands but it didn’t matter; Dean’s fond expression said more than enough. 

Castiel walked Dean to his gate just as they were starting to announce the boarding, both dragging their feet for a few extra minutes, a few extra moments to be together. “I love you,” Cas murmured to Dean, a private whisper as he held him close. 

His heart beat fast, then even faster when he heard Dean reply, “I love you too.”

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

A month after they’d parted ways in Boston, Cas pulled into the arrivals lane at Sea-Tac, slipping off his sunglasses to drop in the cup holder and tapping his fingertips on the wheel. It was eighty degrees and sunny and Dean’s plane had landed five minutes ago. He’d texted Cas to specifically instruct him to wait outside and not in baggage claim. It was the smart choice and Castiel knew it; this was his city and fans approached him all the time. That didn’t stop him from feeling bad about it, or from wanting to see Dean sooner. 

After the trip, they’d gone back to texting, slowly progressing to phone calls and FaceTime. Dean, being three hours ahead, liked to call early before Cas went to practice. He admitted that he loved Cas’ voice in the morning, all gravelly and low, still rough from sleep. It was impossible to ignore the undercurrent, that simmering spark in all their exchanges, which wasn’t exactly new but demanded attention now that they’d both come clean about how they felt. 

So, when Dean called a week ago to ask if he could visit for a couple of days – not because of shoots or anything else but for the sole purpose of seeing Cas – it’d taken Cas perhaps less than a second to ask ‘how soon’ and start counting down. 

They’d ended the call with Cas’ heart in his throat and here he was not any less nervous, fluttery stomach and all. He fiddled with his phone, turned the music on and off, peeked at the doors every fifteen seconds. The next time they parted, Dean was there, wheeling out his suitcase amongst the crowd.

Castiel swung open his car door and was standing on the curb in record time. The lightning-fast reflexes required for hockey came in pretty handy for moments like these. His face was mostly obscured by the bill of his cap, though his build was unmistakable, but the curious whispers erupting around him drowned out as soon as Dean spotted him. 

Dean looked a little tired from the cross-country flight, his fluffy hair all tousled, imperfectly perfect. His mouth curved upward when they saw each other, lighting up his face and his bright green eyes. He sped up his stride for the remaining distance then beamed up at him. “Hey, stranger,” he said. Castiel wanted nothing more than to kiss him, but remembered where they were and knew he had to wait. 

Instead, he opened his arms and swept Dean up when he stepped into them. Dean’s warmth and weight were both so familiar, and Castiel sighed at how good it felt. “Missed you,” he whispered roughly, burying his nose in Dean’s soft hair. It ruffled from his breath and tickled his skin, the scent of Dean’s shampoo still there for him to chase. 

“Me too,” Dean murmured shyly, slightly muffled by Cas’ shoulder. He curled his fingers in Castiel’s shirt, where others couldn’t see, and held on tight. 

When they pulled apart, it was hesitant, and Cas pressed his lips to the rise of Dean’s cheek in a fleeting kiss, just for Dean to know. Color flooded the delicate skin and Dean looked gorgeous, flushed like that. It was all Cas could do not to ravish him as he reached for Dean’s suitcase to distract himself. 

The traffic wasn’t bad this early in the day and they made it home within the hour. Dean kept one hand in the center console for Castiel to hold the entire time. He’d been to Cas’ place before, though it’d been a while. Almost two years. The context was different now, of course, and it felt so new, having Dean in his home. The sight overwhelmed him, filled him with delight, and he couldn’t stop himself from shutting the door and crowding Dean against it to kiss him, hard. Dean laughed, a breathy little thing, his hands wrapped tight around Cas’ biceps.

Cas kissed Dean’s jaw and nosed along his cheekbone. “I missed you,” he sighed, defenseless. He could feel Dean squirm and blush profusely, his accompanying laugh a rumble in his chest. 

“You mentioned that,” Dean chided him, nothing but fondness in his gentle tone. He let himself be held and be thoroughly kissed till his lips were slick and he was laughing again. “Hey,” he touched Cas’ cheek. “I could probably use a shower, and a nap,” he said. “You’re welcome to join me for either or both.”

Cas was fairly sure his brain blew a fuse. 

“Oh.” His mouth ran dry. “Yeah, I, uh. The nap, for sure.” 

“Just the nap?” Dean smiled wryly, tugging Cas in by the front of his shirt. 

Cas covered Dean’s hand and swallowed hard. “You’re gonna need your strength for our date tonight.”

Dean widened his eyes. “Oh, _really_ ,” he said, so pink and pretty with his mouth slightly parted. Cas had to admit this reaction he drew was extremely gratifying, and worth repeating. 

“Come on,” he smiled, pleased, taking Dean’s suitcase and heading up the stairs. He reached for Dean’s hand where the staircase bent, his heartbeat stuttering when Dean obliged. 

He could tell Dean was curious about his plans but only winked and waved toward the bathroom. “Towels are by the sink,” he said needlessly, his grin growing wide at Dean’s little huff. 

“You’re such a tease,” Dean groused at him. 

Cas kissed the swell of his pout. “I’ll be out here.” 

“See if I kiss you again,” Dean shoved him back and rolled his eyes. There was hardly any force behind it, though, and his lips were twitching to fight a smile.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

Three hours later, Dean was back in the bathroom, cocking his head as he stared in the mirror. “Wait, so, where are we going?” he asked as he adjusted his baseball cap. It had the Metros logo embroidered on the front, plucked among many in Cas’ collection. “You sure this is fine?” He meant his outfit, a casual Henley and dark blue jeans. 

Castiel thought he looked incredible, and nodded from the doorway. “Yeah, you’re good.”

“Hmm,” Dean sounded skeptical but seemed pacified by Cas’ gaze. Basked in it a little, in fact, meeting Cas’ eyes in the mirror and smiling. “That was a nice nap,” he purred while he stretched, his shirt riding up to show a strip of skin. It was terribly obvious, so transparent, but being as gone as Cas was, it just struck him as cute. His expression must’ve made that clear because Dean hummed happily, self-satisfied. 

He pushed away from the sink and walked toward Cas, sidling up to him, slow and cat-like. Cas managed to keep his hands to himself while he muttered dryly, “Look who’s teasing now.” 

Dean grinned. “You started it. Let’s go, we’re gonna be late.” 

“I never told you a time,” Cas shook his head, but allowed himself to be pulled along. 

In the car, Dean turned on the radio, which Cas usually kept on NPR. Dean switched to a Top 40 station instead and the chorus of that Walk The Moon song flowed from the speakers. “This song is so catchy,” Dean bounced his knee, mouthing the lyrics every line or two. It was grossly overplayed in Cas’ opinion, but he found that he didn’t mind so much this time. 

He stole glances at Dean all the way to Bellevue, obvious enough for Dean to blush at one point and tell Castiel to keep his eyes on the road. He sighed like he was so put upon and Castiel laughed, deliriously happy. He was acting like some love-struck lead in a rom-com, but only because he _did_ feel pretty damn love-struck. The rom-com part, he wasn’t so sure, though the pop song on the radio felt something like a soundtrack. 

Dean looked surprised, understandably, when the sleek, chrome sports center loomed into view. He had been to Cas’ games at the KeyArena, but never team practices. “Cas?” he said. 

Cas grinned at him, light and playful. “I’m teaching you how to skate.”

Dean stared back, his mouth fallen open. “This is why I ‘needed my strength.’” 

“Well, yeah,” Cas opened his door. “It’s not my fault your mind’s in the gutter.” He got out of the car to Dean sputtering behind him, grumbling what sounded like, “You’re an _ass_.” He smiled and walked around the front with the intention of opening Dean’s door, but Dean beat him to it with a pointed huff, brushing past Castiel – or trying to. Cas caught his hand before he could, meeting Dean’s narrowed eyes with his smiling ones. He tugged the Metros hat off the top of Dean’s head and leaned in to kiss him, chaste yet deliberate. They kissed through the noise Dean made in his throat, soft and startled and so very pretty. They were still holding hands when they pulled apart. Cas slid the cap back over Dean’s hair. “Ready?” he asked quietly, though it was just the two of them in the parking lot. 

The brim of the hat covered most of Dean’s eyes but Cas could see that he was pink. “Yeah,” he said. 

Cas had called ahead to reserve the rink and make sure the rentals window was open. He’d brought his own skates but fussed over Dean’s, double checking the fit and the sharpness of the blade. He had Dean parked on one of the benches while he crouched in front of him, tying the skates. Dean sounded amused as he watched Cas work. “You hover like this for your teammates too?”

Cas tightened the knot and leaned back on his heels. “Only the rookies,” he grinned easily. 

Dean laughed. “Such a great captain. I bet all the rookies are crushing on you.” 

Cas stood up and brought Dean along, steadying him with hands on his waist. They were standing close, their foreheads touching. “I just need one rookie to have a crush on me.” 

“Yeah?” Dean quirked his lips, his finger hooked in Cas’ belt loop. His freckles seemed to dance with the curve of his smile. “Well, rumor has it, _this_ rookie does.” 

It was difficult to hide how pleased that made him, and Cas exuded smugness as he kissed Dean again. They kept it close-mouthed, which was probably for the best, given Cas’ plans to get Dean on the ice. 

He’d known Dean was fairly athletic, had always played a sport – mainly lacrosse – and trained regularly to stay in shape. He was leaner where Cas had bulk, had a natural grace from modeling. It helped with his posture on the ice, Cas noted with pride as he led him by the hand. 

“You’re doing good,” he encouraged him, skating backwards so they could move face to face. “You’ll be giving me a run for my money.”

Dean snorted at that, but smiled anyway. 

They did have some close calls too, Dean tripping on his skates and falling forward, stopped by Cas and his reflexes. The first time he tried skating on his own, he toppled backward, onto his butt. Luckily, Cas managed to grab him last minute and, though he didn’t prevent it, slowed the fall. They ended up with Dean lying flat on the ice and Cas looming above him, both fighting their laughter. 

Dean broke first. “Oh, hey,” he giggled. “Just thought I’d lie here. Enjoy the view.” 

“Uh huh,” Cas laughed at him fondly. “See anything interesting in the clouds?” 

“Actually, yeah,” Dean hummed thoughtfully. “Think I see a hockey player, right over there.” He pressed his palm to Cas face, making him jump with how cold it was. Cas grabbed Dean’s wrist with a little growl and bent down to kiss him. “You think you’re so cute.” 

“ _You_ think that,” Dean challenged him, and Cas had to admit he wasn’t wrong.

They kissed until Dean started to shiver, after which Cas was quick to get him back on his feet. “Sorry,” he said guiltily, staring at how red Dean’s lips had gotten. He shrugged off his fleece-lined Metros jacket and draped it over Dean to add some warmth. It left him in a t-shirt but the cold eluded him, especially given the way Dean looked in his clothes. 

The jacket was just large enough on Dean’s frame to make Cas feel like a high school jock. 

Dean studied Cas’ face for a moment, his resulting expression coy and knowing. He’d clearly interpreted Cas’ silence correctly. “You know, next time, I could wear your jersey.” 

Cas bit his cheek to stifle his groan, the image of Dean in his numbers so vivid that his body lit up with heat and want. Dean had shown up in a team shirt once to Cas’ hotel room when they played Anaheim, riling him up so much that they’d barely undressed, the shirt filthy by the end with lube and come. That had been from team gear alone; Cas could only imagine what it’d be like with a jersey. Something with his name and number on the back, marking Dean as _his_ and him as Dean’s. 

Dean peered at him expectantly, even as Cas reeled from the fantasy. He looked more and more amused the longer he waited, not seeming to mind that Cas couldn’t speak. 

“You okay?” he slid a little closer, his smile teasing and beautiful. 

“Uh,” Cas replied eloquently. “Yeah, that sounds…” 

Dean laughed and kissed him.

After the rink, they went home to change then out to dinner in downtown Seattle, a quiet place with the sort of patrons who’d recognize celebrities but keep to themselves. The food and ambience were pretty classic – maybe some would say unoriginal – but it was their first date and Cas had sprung for traditional, which had felt more romantic somehow. 

“Is this alright?” he’d asked anyway, gently nudging Dean’s foot underneath the table. 

Dean met his eyes with a soft, pleased smile that flustered Cas a bit. “It’s amazing,” he said. 

Their fingers brushed as they left the restaurant and waited for the valet to bring the car around. Their pinkies linked and unlinked slowly, both standing so close that others couldn’t see. Dean carried his suit jacket on one arm, his dress shirt artfully rumpled, top button undone. He looked so good, like something from a dream, and Cas couldn’t believe his luck.

 

◇ ◇ ◇

 

The next twenty-four hours passed in a blur, too quickly for Cas to commit every detail to memory. The one thing he knew for sure, the feeling that he’d always remember, was the bone-deep contentment at seeing Dean’s smile and being able to kiss it, wake up to it. He’d been there before, of course, having Dean in his bed, curled up in his arms. But it was different this time because Dean would stay, and Cas’ heart seemed to swell with the thought.

They drove out to Snoqualmie for Dean’s first full day, their hands brushing as they watched the waterfall and took Snapchat selfies at Dean’s insistence. He always got a kick out of all the filters – they probably took a dozen where they had cat ears – and he laughed so hard at Cas’ wounded expression that it was definitely worth the suffering. “Oh my god, you look so grumpy,” Dean turned the phone around so Cas could see. “I freakin’ love it. I’m making this my background.” 

Cas shook his head, but said, “Send it to me.” 

They were stopped every once in a while, by children wearing Metros gear or older kids who recognized them both. Some looked confused to see them together but were quickly distracted with fishing for their phones. Cas took the pictures for Dean and vice versa, high-fived a little girl who said he was her favorite. He also met a baby wearing number twenty-three and texted Garrett, who replied, ‘Good taste.’ 

It was nearing dinnertime when they got back to the house, and Dean took a shower while Cas beelined to the kitchen. He moved some chicken to the fridge to defrost and fetched a box of fettuccini from the walk-in pantry. The fridge was stocked with enough vegetables to feed a small army, so he figured they could easily throw something together. They’d both been living on their own for years, and pasta wasn’t really rocket science anymore. 

He headed up the stairs to change out of his clothes and noticed that the shower had already turned off. The bathroom door was left slightly ajar and he could hear Dean humming what sounded like Zeppelin. His voice was light – cheerful, almost – and it drew a fond little laugh from Cas. He passed the bathroom and walked into his closet, rummaging for a t-shirt to replace his polo.   

The humming stayed faint, then grew a bit louder and was soon accompanied by muffled footsteps. Cas could tell Dean was somewhere behind him as he tossed the clothes he’d shucked into a nearby hamper. “How does pasta sound?” he asked over his shoulder while he tied the drawstrings of his sweatpants. 

“Sounds great,” Dean replied breezily, and Cas turned around- 

“Oh.” 

Fuck. 

Dean stood, leaning against the doorframe, in nothing but boxers and a ratty t-shirt that, Cas knew for certain, belonged to him. He had no idea how Dean had found it; the thing had probably been buried in a drawer for a year. He’d used to wear it to workout sessions and the fabric had stretched and thinned from washes. Now, its collar hung loose and the shoulders wide, leaving Dean’s pretty collarbones open for viewing. 

“I found it in your dresser,” Dean smiled at him, his fingers toying with a tear in the hem. Had the shirt always been that long? It covered enough of Dean’s boxers to give Cas palpitations. 

He knew his face was doing something dumb, which Dean didn’t seem to mind as he carried on. “Thought you’d like this,” he turned around, and Cas didn’t have to wait to know what was there. He knew it was his name and number on the back, a little faded, stark white against navy. 

“Jesus,” he muttered lowly before crossing the room in purposeful strides. He wrapped one arm around Dean from behind and breathed into his hair. “Dean, you look…” 

Dean shifted to lean his head back and Cas took the chance to kiss along his jaw. His skin was still damp and flushed from the shower, warm and baby-soft under Cas’ lips. “How do I look, Cas?” he murmured, sweet, though he must’ve known his effect on Cas. He definitely felt it anyhow, when Cas rolled his hips and tore out a gasp. 

“Gorgeous,” Cas kissed his neck, making Dean shiver. “So gorgeous, Dean.” He slipped his hand beneath the front of the shirt and felt the muscles twitch, the goosebumps rise. 

Dean gripped his hand. “Cas, I want…” His lashes fluttered like butterfly wings. 

Cas hummed thoughtfully. “We need to make dinner,” which made Dean huff and twist in his arms. 

“ _Later_.” His eyes were dark and lips so plush when he kissed Castiel. He was hot all over, even through the shirt, as Cas traced the letters on the small of his back. 

They stumbled out of the doorway and didn’t stop kissing, moving blindly with their feet getting tangled. Eventually, Cas lost patience and hoisted Dean up to carry him instead. Dean wasn’t light by any means; he was taller than average and had more muscle. But Cas could also bench press opponents off his body and, compared to them, Dean felt like a feather. 

“God,” Dean said between kisses. “I love it when you do that. Drives me crazy.” 

Cas couldn’t be blamed for preening at that, not when the effect of his strength was so clear on Dean’s face. 

He reached the bed and lowered Dean on it. “I’ll just have to keep doing it then.” He climbed over Dean and caged him in, heart beating like mad. “Tell me what you want.” 

Dean looked at him for what seemed like a while, wide-eyed and nervous, chewing on his lip. It’d been years since they were last here, in bed and on the cusp of giving into the want. Some parts were achingly familiar, like the spread of Dean’s body across the sheets and Cas’ readiness to cherish it. Now, he could have all of that, the physical part, and more. He could kiss Dean and tell him how much he loved him. 

“Could we…” Dean hesitated, reaching up with both hands to touch the sides of Cas’ face. “I just- I want you,” he said, pulling Cas close to kiss him again. 

Cas hadn’t meant to be _that_ guy and assume anything, but the texts and calls leading up to Dean’s visit- They’d made him want to rather be safe than sorry. He shoved his hand into the bedside drawer for the condoms and lube he’d bought just in case, his sheepish smile matching Dean’s own as he moved back and knelt between Dean’s legs. “You’re sure?” he asked him gently, prepared to stop if Dean’d changed his mind.

Dean met his eyes, so full of trust, and reached for Cas’ hand. “Of course, I am.” 

Castiel wondered, absently, if it were possible to die from happiness, and he leaned down to kiss Dean, slow and deep, the heat coursing through their bodies rising and rising. They were both eager to touch and relish the moment. They had all the time in the world, really. “I love you,” he said to Dean, and his heart soared when Dean said it back.

A benefit of having known each other the way they had, was that Cas didn’t have to guess when it came to Dean’s body. He knew how slick his fingers should be, how slow he should move them, when to shift their angle. He knew Dean liked it when Cas kissed his neck, murmured in his ear as he opened him up.

He knew Dean would try to push back against him, to take him deeper and faster than he should, so he kept him pinned with the weight of his body, letting Dean writhe and whimper beneath him. “ _Cas_ ,” Dean clutched Cas’ arms, crying out when Cas’ fingers rubbed over his prostate. “Don’t… You’re gonna make me come, I…” His lashes were wet. “I want to wait.”

Despite his insistence, he still looked disappointed when Cas took pity and pulled his fingers out. He laid there panting and catching his breath, beautifully wrecked and thoroughly disheveled.

“Are you alright?” Cas kissed his cheek, then quickly reared back to look at Dean again. It was practically impossible to tear his eyes away, not with Dean so pliant and gorgeous like this. 

“Yeah, I just… I was close,” Dean’s smile was pink and dozy and pleased. “Hey, is it, um, okay if we…”

“Anything,” Cas said. “Anything you want.”

Dean turned a bit red, a little embarrassed, before pushing lightly at Cas’ chest. Cas took the hint and lifted up, granting Dean more room to move on the mattress.

What Cas didn’t expect was for Dean to turn over, pillowing one cheek on his folded arms. It gave Cas a perfect view of the back of his shirt. NOVAK. 18. “Can we… like this?”

“ _Dean_ ,” Castiel groaned, touching Dean’s hips. “You’re gonna kill me.”

Dean smiled over his shoulder, prettily flushed, and backed into Cas’ hands. “Come on,” he sighed.

The anticipation was palpable, and Cas could feel it in the line of Dean’s body. He pressed against Dean’s back and kissed his shoulder, shielding him protectively. “I’ll take care of you.”

He straightened up to yank off his shirt, tossing it join Dean’s boxers on the floor. He loosened his pants and shoved them down with his underwear, just enough to free his erection. His cock was hard, leaking already, and he hissed under his breath as he slid on the condom. He tightened his grip on either side of Dean’s hips and pushed in slow with a heated groan.

“Oh, god,” Dean whispered roughly, dropping his head and spreading his knees to brace himself, letting Cas in deeper. Cas, meanwhile, moved as gently as he could, shaking with the effort, till Dean had taken all of him. He waited for patiently for Dean to relax, despite the tight heat tantalizing him to thrust and _take_ and claim as his own. He moved one hand to grab at the shirt, scrunching up the fabric just above Dean’s ass.

“You look so good,” he said, gripping harder, staring at his number spread across Dean’s back, his cock buried deep in Dean’s slick body. Dean had stopped trembling and Cas ran his free hand along the side of his waist. “You okay, baby? 

“Yeah,” Dean arched his back, moaning brokenly. “You can move.” He gasped when Cas leaned forward briefly to kiss the nape of his neck, sweet and sensitive. 

When Castiel moved, it was in long, lazy thrusts, using his hold on Dean’s hip and the shirt as leverage to pull out almost all the way and slide back in. He honed in on the sounds he drew from Dean’s throat, all so breathy and lovely that he couldn’t get enough.

“Ngh, _fuck_ ,” Dean dropped his head, hands digging into the sheets and clutching them tight, his knuckles white as he gave himself over. He let Cas maneuver him however he liked, let those big, calloused hands tilt his hips until the angle was _just_ \- “Cas. Cas, _ah_!”

“There?” Cas asked with a smile, and when Dean nodded, frantic and breathless, he nailed it again, and again, and again. Each thrust was slow, focused, indulgent, but hard enough to make Dean’s knees slide forward on the bed. And each time that happened, Cas caught him by the hips to pull him back onto his cock, getting him so good.

Dean couldn’t stop the sounds that fell from his lips, little cries of pleasure broken up by gasps, the only discernible word being Cas’ name. He was falling apart under Cas’ touch and it was intoxicating, seeing him like this. “That’s it,” Cas murmured softly. “You feel so good. So perfect for me.” He draped himself across Dean’s back and reached around his waist. “Do you want me to touch you?”

Dean whined. “ _Please_ ,” he begged, his mouth all red and slick and parted. He was so wet when Cas took him in his hand, just a loose circle for Dean to fuck into. “Harder,” he pleaded through a sob, and Castiel gave him exactly what he wanted, picking up the rhythm and slamming into Dean. It sounded obscene in the quiet of the room, weaved together with grunts and hitching breaths, and it was Cas’ low, “I love you so much,” that made Dean come all over the sheets.

He would’ve collapsed had it not been for Cas, who held his grip and kept on thrusting, groaning at how tightly Dean clenched around him. Dean whimpered every time he snapped his hips, oversensitive from coming, flushed everywhere. “Cas,” he breathed, soft and shaky, his skin blotchy and pink like he might cry. It was too much, his voice and his body, and Cas shoved his face into the back of Dean’s neck and fucked Dean hard and deep until he came. 

Everything was slick and a little too hot as they lay there together, catching their breath. Castiel wasn’t sure how much time had passed before he kissed Dean’s shoulder and slowly pulled out. “Are you okay?” he murmured to Dean, who looked blissed out and sleepy, lying flat on his stomach. 

Dean smiled all soft and lazy. “Mm,” he said. “Come here, I wanna cuddle.”

Cas laughed, heart skipping again, and he tied off the condom to throw in the trash can before crawling back to lie next to Dean. He opened his arms for Dean to curl into and stroked his hair once Dean settled against his chest. 

He would’ve been content to stay like that forever, but they were both filthy and maybe famished, and their clothes could use a wash, especially Dean’s. At the sound of Dean’s rumbling stomach, Cas grinned into his hair. “We should probably eat.” 

Dean laughed. “Yeah, for sure, I’m starving,” but instead of getting up, squirmed a little closer. “You’re so warm though… Five more minutes.”

Cas’ heart was so full.

“Okay, five minutes.”


	5. 2017 - Playoffs

Cas had been on the ice for hundreds of games, for exhilarating wins and crushing losses, making the playoffs and falling out of the running; he’d heard how the fans reacted to it all. 

None of that, he thought, had prepared him for the sound of the arena when they won the Stanley Cup. 

The noise could only be described as _thunderous_ , and he couldn’t make out what his teammates were saying but he saw the joy on their faces and that was enough. They hauled each another into their arms and laughed and swore and screamed and cried. Eight seasons and they’d finally done it. The euphoria overwhelmed and overflew from him. 

They eventually let press and family onto the ice, the latter being the only thing that could disperse the team right then. He skated past Ian kissing his wife, his daughter Ella hoisted high on his hip. He caught a glimpse of Garrett with his parents and girlfriend, huddled together in their own, exuberant bubble. 

But he could understand the feeling when he saw his family, pulling his mother into a hug then his father and Gabe, their eyes already wet. Everything else seemed to fade a little, even the bright camera flashes going off around them. 

“Congratulations, Cas,” Gabe said to him, patting Cas’ cheek then wrinkling his nose. “You gonna shave now or what?” he laughed at him, before adding, “Turn around, your boyfriend’s waiting.” 

So, Castiel did and felt the sound of his heartbeat rise up to match the rest of the arena. 

Dean stood in front of him, flag in his hand, wearing a Stanley Cup finals t-shirt and a radiant smile that outshined the lights. He looked stunning with his face flushed pink and pure fondness and wonder exuding from him. It wasn’t entirely clear who stepped forward but the next time he blinked and opened his eyes, he had Dean in his arms, warm and familiar, carrying him by the back of his thighs. 

“You did it,” Dean breathed happily, twining his arms around Cas’ neck and beaming down at him, alight and lovely. “I’m so proud of you, baby,” he said, every part of him so dear to Cas. He was smiling when Castiel kissed him, the curve of it soft against Cas’ lips. 

“I love you,” Castiel said, between one kiss and the next, holding Dean tight. 

“I love you too,” Dean replied softly, pulling back so Castiel could watch him say the words. He brought one hand from behind Cas’ shoulders to run his fingers along Cas’ jaw. “So, this peach fuzz,” he laughed, light and airy, his tone at odds with the wetness in his eyes. “Is it staying or going?” he asked.

Cas leaned into the touch. “Whatever you want.” 

“Hmm,” Dean tilted his head. “I mean, it’s hot. Kinda does it for me.” 

“Yeah?” Cas smiled smugly. Dean’s chest was still red from Cas’ kisses last night.

Dean must have caught the glint in Cas’ eyes because his expression turned fondly exasperated. “Yeah, you’re totally shaving,” he told him firmly.

Cas laughed then nodded, and kissed him again.


	6. 2018 - Now

**A Long Way Home**

By Chloe Lee

Castiel Novak and Dean Winchester first met as ‘rookies’ in a New York City bar, Novak just months into his first season with the Metropolitans and Winchester a fresh face in the modeling world. They’d gone out for drinks to celebrate, a win against the Rangers and a shoot with Hugo Boss. Novak recalls walking past the crowded bar and running into Winchester – literally. 

“I thought he was gorgeous,” he says with a smile. “I mean, I know that’s obvious from looking at him but he left me kind of speechless. Is that too corny?”

Beside him, Winchester laughs, his cheeks noticeably pink under studio lights. I ask him if the attraction was mutual and he peers at Novak fondly. “It’d be fair to say that.” 

That was in January 2009, and in the intervening years, they became friends – and more – despite the distance separating them. They met in New York if Novak had a game, or if work brought Winchester to Seattle, whenever they found themselves flying to the same cities at the same time, from Boston to Los Angeles and in-between. 

That’s thousands of miles and strong devotion. When did all of it transition to love? 

Hearing the question, Novak ducks his head, turning to share a sideways look with Winchester. It’s the body language of a long-standing couple, entire thoughts exchanged through their eyes alone. “For me, it took two years to realize how I felt about him. But we had a status quo and I was scared to mess that up, which kept me in limbo for a really long time.” 

“That was the case for both of us,” Winchester says, resting his hand on Novak’s knee. He smiles shyly when Novak takes it, their fingers linking habitually. “I really liked him, but more than that, he became such an important person in my life. We’d known each other through a lot of ups and downs, and I didn’t want to risk losing any of that.” As he says this, I catch a small glimpse of vulnerability rarely captured by cameras. It’s more private, softer and open, making Winchester look much younger than his 30 years. 

Novak, after watching closely, lifts their joined hands up to his lips in a quiet gesture of tender affection. “We figured it out eventually though.” His voice is a mixture of pride and relief. 

Listening to both of them speak of their love for each other, which had clearly started growing from the very beginning, makes me wonder how difficult it must have been to deal with the distance, uncertainty, and emotions. Not to mention the pressures of their respective careers and navigating the demands on their time and attention. Winchester smiles at my careful suggestion that their circuitous journey broke their hearts at times. 

“Sure, it wasn’t easy,” he admits. “I couldn’t see him that often. I missed him all the time. It’s obvious in hindsight what all of that meant.” His expression turns impish. “My friends called it pining.” 

I ask if the same could be said for Novak, and his teammates who witnessed the two fall in love. Forward Ian Mathers claims that the signs were there from the moment they met. “Oh, he was smitten, and still is,” he says. “No one makes Cas smile the way Dean does.” 

Defenseman Garrett Unger agrees, though he also confesses some third-party frustration. “It was about time,” he says with laugh. “I mean, we _literally_ aged nine years.” 

“They make each other happy,” adds Joanna Harvelle, who was Winchester’s roommate when he moved to New York. “There was a point a few years ago when Dean really needed someone to be there for him. It was sort of a turning point for them, I think. It was proof that they were meant to be.” 

When I mention Harvelle’s words to Winchester, he slightly demurs with a thoughtful expression. “I was going through a tough time,” he says to me. “Cas was so great. He let me lean on him, and that brought up everything I’d been pushing down. All the emotions I’d been ignoring, all the thoughts I’d had about the two of us.” 

“So, you talked,” I prompt him gently, which makes them both laugh and say, “Yeah, we did.” 

“All that time I thought I was alone, we were on the same page and just didn’t know it.” Novak turns to Winchester and it’s the same focused look we see on the ice, except his eyes are soft and fond as ever. “Now, we’re making up for all the years we missed out on.” 

Which perhaps explains their engagement last year and the upcoming wedding planned for this summer, a private ceremony back in Seattle coinciding with the NHL off-season. 

“We wanted to keep it small,” says Winchester. “Just our families, and friends from Seattle, New York…”

“Vermont,” Novak reminds him and the smile they share is intimate. 

I then inquire about the timing of Novak’s proposal, and whether it was influenced by the Seattle Metros’ Stanley Cup triumph six months ago. Novak was also the recipient of the Conn Smythe Trophy, awarded to the most valuable player of the playoffs. 

“I’d be lying if I said there was no connection, though I’d gotten the ring before we made the playoffs.” The matching bands now glisten on their fingers, as understated and classy as the men wearing them. “I kept waiting for my chance, then we made the finals, and then it was game one, two, _six_ …” he grins at the memory. “It was hard to keep pushing it back, but I didn’t want the most important question of my life to be overshadowed by a different celebration. I did ask as soon as I could. Luckily, he said ‘yes.’” 

What was it like for Winchester to watch Novak hoist the Stanley Cup, having known him since his rookie season? 

“It was amazing,” Winchester says. “It’s an amazing thing for everyone who supports the team, knowing how hard they’ve trained and played to get there.” 

When I ask about Winchester’s hockey knowledge, Novak grins mischievously. “When we first met-” 

Winchester groans. “Oh, geez,” he says. “He’s never gonna let me live this down.” 

“When we first met, a friend of ours asked him what the NHL championship trophy is called. Dean said, ‘ice something trophy,’” Novak laughs. 

“Well, it’s not _wrong_ ,” Winchester protests. I ask how it felt to hold the ‘ice something trophy,’ to which he replies, “Heavier than I thought. It’s an impressive piece of history.” 

Of course, along with this hard-earned Stanley Cup title will come heightened attention on the entire roster, and particularly for Novak, who was named the captain of the Seattle Metros in 2012. His media obligations and endorsement deals will occupy much of his off-ice time, and with Winchester being busy in his own right, where are the newlyweds planning to settle? 

“We’re in Seattle during the season, though we both travel a lot,” Winchester says. “Then we’re in New York for the off-season while I work and Cas trains. We do alright.” 

And on top of their busy schedules, they’re currently billet parents for 19-year-old rookie Jack Kline. For those less familiar with the lingo, billet families offer room, board, and support to young hockey players who join a new team away from home. 

“Jack’s been a great addition to the Metros, and we love having him,” Novak says. “He and Dean have the same taste in television.” 

“Yeah, a _good_ one,” Winchester quips.

Are there more plans for billet parenting in the future, or perhaps other parenting and starting a family? 

Their smiles are shier and maybe a bit telling. “We’re talking about it,” Novak says.

Near the end of the interview, I ask if they believe in such a thing as fate, or any similar power that had a rookie hockey player and a newcomer model meet nine years ago. For a minute or two, they consider the question, looking at their still-clasped hands and then at each other. It occurs to me again how good they look together, not only in appearance but also their ease with one another. 

After a moment of contemplation, it’s Winchester who answers first. 

“I don’t know if I believe in fate, in like a religious or philosophical sense, but I do think it wasn’t just by chance that I met Cas that day, because we had so many reasons to miss each other. And maybe if I _had_ missed him for whatever reason, I feel like we still would’ve met at a point later on. Maybe tweak our fate just as much as it did us.” Winchester laughs. “We’re tenacious like that.” 

Novak listens attentively, nodding along before adding his thoughts. “I think that maybe your endgame is waiting for you, and it’s up to you to find your way there, so it gets all roundabout with all your wrong turns.” 

“That’s a good way to put it,” Winchester says, and Novak thanks him, looking pleased. It’s easy enough to forgive the interruption when it’s obvious that Novak doesn’t mind at all. 

“So, your endgame,” Novak continues. “Maybe you’ll reach it earlier if you’re lucky but either way, when you eventually get there, I feel like you know you’re in the right place. At least, that’s how I’d describe finally being with Dean.” 

“The right place?” I ask Novak, who’s smiling at Winchester.

“Home,” he says.

 

 _CL_. _Vanity Fair_.

**Author's Note:**

> [Tumblr Masterpost](http://puppycastiel.tumblr.com/post/171903204550/deancaspinefest-title-find-our-way-author) (please share if you enjoyed the fic!)
> 
> As always, do leave me kudos, comments, and love! :)


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